I've tried to write an intro to this for a while. I couldn't think of how to introduce this, or what made me write it down; but here it is.
In grad school, I
became really close with a boy in one of my classes. He was smart, funny, interesting. He was also handsome. His lithe body would breeze into the
classroom late, and no one criticize him for interrupting our session. A few girls would blush (including the
teacher) and he would sit and class would continue.
Of course, I also thought he was handsome. But he was also thoughtful; principled; idealistic; passionate; witty; intelligent and
brave. Very few people got to know him
though, he was handsome, and that apparently spoke enough about him.
As a fat girl, I had come to realize that the package one
comes in is one fraction of their story.
As someone whose body is commented on, and graded; whose lifestyle
apparently can be assumed from what I look like; I knew early on that the book
can't actually be judged by its cover-- no matter how pretty the cover is.
I am sad to admit, that it wasn't some grand enlightenment
that helped me come to this conclusion.
It was shame. All-compassing
shame about my body, and therefore myself.
It's not hard to internalize fat-shame; we see and hear it every day-
almost everywhere. Some days, I'm strong and fierce. Others, I hate all my clothes; I hate my
hair; I hate everything I see in the mirror.
If I was thin this would all look better, I say to myself. I skip breakfast, keep my head down and stay
quiet- as if I could melt into the backgrounds.
My shame taught me to listen the "advice" given to
me by adults in my young life. If I
didn't have the looks, I should have the personality. If you have to be fat, you might as well be
smart, or funny, or artistic. I never
did my hair, put on makeup. I took that
precious time, and developed my personality and skills-- that's all I had to
work with apparently. I was a champion
public-speaker and debater. I sang. I did theatre. I was good at these things, but that was
never enough. When jokes about "the
fat lady singing" made me cry, I was admonished, why would I choose
something so public to do?
My own shame taught me to ignore my body, and by extension
other people's bodies too. If I didn't
comment on their body, then maybe they wouldn't comment on mine. It was a tactic of self-preservation in a
way. Silence on the subject kept my
tears at bay. If I didn't bring up what
people looked like, maybe my friends wouldn't tell me about the "new
diet" they used that worked so well.
Maybe they wouldn't send me website about how successful others have
been after gastric-bypass surgery.
Maybe, just maybe, they would see past my shell to what I thought was
lurking beneath it.
My shame taught me to talk to pretty boys like they were
people. Why shame? I couldn't get giggly and silly like other
girls did. There was no way that a
pretty boy would like my body. He would
never kiss me, so I would be their friend.
My shame taught me I was undesirable-- but my mind taught me that I was
smart, charming, funny, interesting. At
least, I was worth talking to.
And this is how I came to know the handsome boy. We studied together, and hung out like
friends do. Apparently, he flirted with
me often. My shame wouldn't let me see
that. He told me I was pretty. My shame told me he was just being nice. He invited me to events he organized. My shame told me that he couldn't find anyone
else to go.
Before class, he walked over to my group, and asked if I
wanted to go and have coffee that night.
I said sure. The surprised thin,
blond girl beside me asked if I was dating handsome boy. My shame made me laugh and reply that we were
"just friends" of course. And
her relief at the news was visible.
Handsome boy turned around and told her that it was a date. That he had just asked me on a date. Then he asked me if that was alright. My shame made me feel confused. Why was this a date? Was he trying to make a statement? Was he making fun of me? I had trained myself so well to not trust any
advances. It had to be a trick. I could not understand why someone would want
my body. I settled with the idea that he
was going to try to see past my fatness.
The surprise returned to my classmate's face, "why
would he want to go out with you instead of m--." Her expression mirrored
what I felt about my body. But this
time, instead of shame, I felt anger.
How dare someone utter that thought out loud. We were all thinking it, but to say it?
But it was exactly what I needed to hear.
Once it was out there, I couldn't bury it deep within me
anymore. I had to face the unspoken
understanding and relationship of my body in that space with those people. I knew what they thought-- because my shame
made me feel it too. But my anger at
that comment, and the gentle encouragement of my boy friend made me push that
shame aside to comment on my own worthiness.
I needed to hear my own self love out loud.
I would love to say that I stood and delivered a triumphant
speech that changed everyone's ideas about bodies and fatness. Really what came out of me that day were
tears and a muffled, "I am worth a date.
I am a good choice." Followed
by my leaving class and hiding out in the women's bathroom until he got fed up
and came in there. I told you he was
brave.
I wish I could say that my shame never affected me
again. But that wouldn't be true. I never went on that date. I never confronted that classmate who I
thought was my friend. I graduated and
tried to leave it behind me. I wish I
could say that I don't look for acceptance from other people. But the fact is, I do. I don't think I will ever be able to completely
stop looking for it there. But I'm wiser
now. So I only look for the acceptance I
crave from people I love; like-minded fatties who understand the politics of
their existence.
And even though I have been able to work on keeping my fat
shame away, some days it rears its ugly head. Sometimes, I am confident mini-skirt wearing
beauty, flirting and being my charming self.
Other times, I am that baggy sweatshirt wearing wallflower, who would do
anything to fade into the background. So when those shameful moments happens, I try
and write it down and read it. I have to
hear it out loud-- otherwise I won't try to fight it.
