I’m A Slim Person Trapped in a Plus-Size Body

home insemination Kit

About a year ago, I managed to shed around 30 pounds for what feels like the 17th time. During that period, my dad came to visit and casually made a comment that threw me for a loop.

Now, let me just say, my dad is a great guy. I love him, and he means well. But when I share what he said, you might think he’s a bit clueless—maybe even a jerk.

Here’s how it went down:
Dad: “Hey! You look great! Have you lost weight?”
Me: “Yeah, I’ve been working on it. About 30 pounds.”
Dad: “Oh, that’s awesome! You’re not really fat on the inside. You’re skinny inside. My kid isn’t fat!”
Me: silence.

A. That was as confusing and hurtful as you’d guess. B. It wasn’t entirely unexpected since he often shares thoughts like this. C. To be honest, I kinda agree with him.

I was a skinny kid, no matter how I ate (whether it was nothing, a whole cheesecake, or everything in between). After having my second child, I found I had put on about 15 pounds. I remember my boss telling me I was beautiful, but if I lost 10 pounds, I’d be gorgeous.

Fast forward a few years, and I somehow gained another 20 pounds. I tried dieting and lost 50. Then, I went to nursing school and started working nights. I was horrified when I saw my weight—my body fat was about 35% Oreos. I gained 55 pounds again, dieted (ever seen that movie Groundhog Day?). Started marathon training, lost 65 pounds, got divorced, remarried, and my husband requested I gain 20 pounds because apparently, “bones aren’t sexy.” Then, guess what? I got pregnant (fourth time!). Stopped running, gained 60 pounds.

Now I’m in a cycle that feels like I’ve thrown away and repurchased my entire wardrobe four times. I lost 15 pounds, got pregnant AGAIN, gained 30, lost 20, got an IUD, and gained 10. Confused yet?

At one point, I hit 200 pounds. I lost 35, and my therapist told me I had exercise bulimia (yes, that’s real). My husband said my calorie counting and obsessive exercising were driving him crazy. Six months later, I gained it all back.

And that’s my journey in a nutshell.

I hesitate to share this because I know how most people view plus-size individuals. (I use the term “fat” simply as a descriptor, because, well, I am a fat person.) Many think fat people are lazy, undisciplined, or even gluttonous. While I know this isn’t true, it’s a stereotype I fear. I don’t want to be labeled that way. I’m actually one of the least lazy people you’ll meet—can’t sit through a movie, can’t rest with a laundry pile, can’t even breathe with a dirty carpet around.

Even though I weigh 200 pounds, I don’t see myself as fat. I get that I look it; I’m a size 16. After a Chinese meal, I’m an 18 (thanks to all that salt!). I doubt many women would admit to being fat, or want to shop in the “fat” section of stores (if they even have one). My caring husband will call me anything but fat—curvy, voluptuous—but never fat. He gets it; that word doesn’t carry a nice ring to it.

Inside, I don’t feel fat. I’m a wife, a mother, a nurse, a friend, and so much more. I have a lot going on in my life beyond my weight. But there’s always that shadow looming overhead, reminding me of the disconnect between how I feel and the reality of being fat. And yes, it does make me sad.

It saddens me to think about my husband finding someone thinner or prettier. Does everyone think, “Oh, he’s a nice guy for being with a fat girl”? Or am I actually a great partner despite my size?

It also makes me sad that I sometimes look in the mirror and don’t see beauty. Who defines beauty anyway? Is it just what we’re sold? My big hips, round backside, and belly all make up who I am. Why do women always seem to size each other up?

Truth be told, I’d prefer to be smaller. I’ve been everything from anorexic to obese, but I prefer a healthier middle ground. Unfortunately, statistics show that 95% of dieters regain lost weight (check out the insightful Health at Every Size by Linda Bacon, PhD). Given my history, I recognize that statistic holds true for me.

But I haven’t thrown in the towel. I’m not going to resign myself to being fat forever. I’ve stopped viewing weight loss as a constant goal. I’m not counting calories, nor am I exercising just to earn a milkshake. I’m not trying to “get in shape”—I’m already a shape, and it happens to be round. Those extra pounds? They’re mine, all 200 of them.

The truth is, I’m focusing on being healthy and happy. I want to love my body deeply so others will see my confidence and stop worrying about my weight.

I believe my body is amazing. It has brought precious children into the world, and I can walk, run, and bike. I’m healthy (despite my size, so don’t ask). I’m smart, kind, and those traits have nothing to do with my shape. But yet, when I look at myself, I still see a fat person.

I want to change the conversation about bodies. We are so much more than just our physical appearances.

In summary, I’m navigating a complex relationship with my body, trying to embrace who I am beyond my size, and focusing on health and happiness instead of societal expectations.