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Forget It, I’m Over My Weight and Ready to Live!
I stumbled across a meme today that gave me a good chuckle. It featured a hefty fellow on a surfboard with a caption like, “When you toss your diet out the window and just think, ‘forget it, I’m fat!’” Honestly, they could have just used my picture—it’s spot on!
Now, society has set expectations for how I should feel about my weight. I’m supposed to be downcast, watching my daughter sprint around while I struggle to keep up. There should be a lightbulb moment in the grocery store when I catch a glimpse of the latest fitness magazine, prompting me to join a gym, lose weight, and share my journey online as a beacon of “thinspiration” for others.
But here’s the thing: when I feel the pressure of societal expectations, my middle fingers have a mind of their own! So, instead, I’m choosing to be a FATspiration. Here’s my so-called “journey to self-love,” or whatever self-help jargon you want to label it as.
I haven’t always felt this way. The first time I realized I was considered “fat” was back in third grade. I don’t recall what triggered it—a classmate’s comment, perhaps, or maybe a remark from a relative. I was a perceptive kid, so maybe I just compared myself to others and figured it out. That was the beginning of the struggle.
Throughout elementary school, I hoped I’d just “grow out of it.” I did slim down a bit in junior high, but not enough to feel confident. I still had the poochy stomach and wiggly bits. Standing at 5-foot-2 and weighing around 135 pounds, I technically had a normal BMI, but I felt anything but normal compared to the popular girls. That’s when I started dabbling in fasting, and my inner critic began its relentless commentary.
High school was a rollercoaster of weight fluctuations. I was never satisfied with my appearance but decided to embrace my body as it was. Fortunately, I attended a small school where bullying was minimal, thanks to my sharp wit and self-deprecating humor. Even if there had been bullies, they couldn’t have been worse than the voice in my head.
By the time I graduated, I was involved with my first husband and weighed 165 pounds. I felt out of control and desperate for change. I turned to fasting and diet pills, caught in a vicious cycle. My weight became a constant source of anxiety throughout my first marriage. I couldn’t fathom why my husband found me attractive, which only further dampened my feelings about intimacy. I would lose a little weight, only to gain it all back, consumed by the struggle.
Then, my doctor diagnosed me with hypothyroidism, explaining why the weight wouldn’t budge. You’d think things would improve, but I ended up breaking my ankle and was immobile for months. By the time I got divorced, I was tipping the scales at 250 pounds.
While my weight wasn’t the sole reason for the breakup, I blamed it heavily. I sank into depression, hiding behind a smile for everyone else while I struggled with self-loathing. After a year of being single, I tried the most extreme crash diet and dropped back to near my high school weight. I received tons of compliments and attention from men, which felt exhilarating—even if it came from essentially starving myself on a 500-calorie diet. I started partying, thinking happiness would follow.
But was I really happy? Even at a lower weight, my old self-hate resurfaced, shifting to new insecurities. I worried I’d never be “enough” and feared dying alone with a house full of cats. How could I ever win this battle?
Then I met my current husband. Falling in love with him and his kids changed everything. After our daughter was born, my perspective shifted dramatically. The noise of self-criticism faded as I focused on nurturing this little life. I began to reassess what happiness really meant and realized it’s not about a constant state of bliss—life will always have its challenges.
Why complicate things with endless self-hatred? I didn’t want to pass that negativity onto my daughter, who would face enough external pressures. So, I made a choice. I stopped obsessing over diets, exercise schedules, and my jeans size. I let go of the guilt surrounding food and stopped linking my worth to my weight.
Did the self-loathing vanish completely? No, of course not. Am I blissfully happy all the time? Certainly not. But I’ve realized that no one is, regardless of how they look. I’ve learned to step outside of my head and appreciate all the good things life offers, regardless of that pesky scale. Does this mean I’ll never want to lose weight again? Not at all; I might decide to someday. But for now, that struggle isn’t on my agenda.
I know some folks might label me lazy and undisciplined, arguing I’m a burden on healthcare due to my “unhealthy” habits (I’d bet my doctor visits in the past year are fewer than theirs). Once, I might have agreed with that sentiment, but now? I hope my presence out and about ruffles their feathers, making their day just a tad worse, all while I enjoy my cheeseburger.
Summary:
In this candid reflection, the author shares her tumultuous journey with body image and weight, from childhood insecurities to adult challenges, including marriage and parenthood. She ultimately embraces self-acceptance and shifts her focus from societal pressures to personal happiness. This narrative highlights the importance of rejecting harmful self-criticism and prioritizing self-love, all while recognizing that the journey is ongoing.