I Used to Be the “Fat” Girl: Overcoming Labeling

I used to be the “fat” girl. Weight has always been an issue of mine, long before I even knew it was an “issue” one could be plagued with. I never quite fit into the string-bean category of so many of my girlfriends growing up. I remember the subtle comments, the occasional snickers behind my back. My aunt used to tell me that I had a basketball in my tummy. At the time, I didn’t even know what she was referencing. I eventually figured it out. Sure, my aunt was teasing, but her comments weren’t funny. It hurts to be labeled, regardless of age. It sticks with you.

I used to be the “fat” girl. I have never been able to eat whatever I’ve wanted without consequence, not even as a child. I can literally look at a cookie and gain a pound. I did lean out as an active teenager, a product of playing sports year-round. Moreover, I was raised in an omnivorous household: we ate everything from hamburgers to octopus. Salad and a vegetable were dinner table staples, and fruit was always in the bowl on the counter. I was never thin like so many of my friends, and I struggled painfully with body image, but I was healthy. In retrospect, I wish I could have taken more pride in myself, and had more of a concept of my self worth. But hindsight is always 20/20, isn’t it?

I used to be the “fat” girl. I was not so healthy in college. Beer drinking, late-night-pizza-eating and the absence of playing a team sport quickly caught up with me. My mom confronted me about it. It’s one of those conversations I’ll never forget: she said I didn’t look happy, that perhaps taking some time to care for my whole self might help my overall outlook. I was hurt, but she was right. It took me a long time to realize that my mom wasn’t criticizing my size, she simply wanted me to be happy. She wanted her daughter to be comfortable and confident in her own skin. I wasn’t, and it showed.

I used to be the “fat” girl. Post college, I started to get into running. It was an awesome stress reliever during a grueling graduate school and work schedule, and it made me feel great. It was hard and I was never amazing at it, but there was a certain kind of personal accomplishment in pounding feet to pavement that I had never felt with exercise before. I participated in a local 5K race. It was tough; I wanted to quit several times. But I persevered, and took first place for my age group. Granted, I think there was only one other person in my category, but I was so proud of my little victory. It was a true confidence builder for my post-college/not-quite-yet-adult self. The pride I gleaned from running went a long way in helping me establish and nurture the roots of my adult self-image.

I used to be the “fat” girl.  I didn’t love being pregnant. While there were many beautiful moments, my first and third trimesters were pretty much spent nursing migraines, and eating anything that didn’t smell putrid and would actually stay down. I surpassed my six-foot-tall, very fit husband in weight during each pregnancy; I’m 5’5″. I eventually trained myself to look away from the scale; I would literally avert my eyes during doctor appointments. I was assured that my weight gain wasn’t excessive, but to someone who has been conscious of weight and body image for more than half of her life, watching the numbers climb ever-upward was a huge source of anxiety. I forced myself to take a proverbial step back: this wasn’t about me – it was about nurturing the child growing inside of me – and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. Welcoming my babies into the world was nothing short of magical. I’m still in awe of what the female body – my body! – is able to accomplish during pregnancy.

I used to be the “fat” girl. After having three babies in four-and-a-half years, my body needed some TLC. I made a conscious decision after the birth of my daughter to take care of myself. I decided to eat more cleanly; I have attempted to build more muscle tone and endurance through various forms of exercise. It’s not always easy. I struggle often. But the pay-off is what motivates me: I can run around outside with my kids without stopping to catch my breath; I can push a double stroller containing some one-hundred pounds of children up a hill for a walk; I can lift and hold my fifty-pound son if he needs Mommy to hug and cuddle with him. Ensuring that I have the sustained energy to keep up with my very active brood is what makes me happy, what makes me comfortable and confident in my own skin.
A by-product of my approach has been a significant weight loss, and a change in body shape. My Grandma has nicknamed me “skinny”. She’s ninety-four and the matriarch of the family, so I wouldn’t dare openly contradict her, but I’ve never been skinny. Moreover, I’ve worked so hard to overcome labeling in my life, that it’s difficult to like or even accept any sort of classification, however well-intentioned. I am what I’ve always been: me. I’ll always have hips, broad shoulders and – let’s be honest – that annoying back fat that sneaks out from underneath my bra straps. The worst. After my three pregnancies, I also have a stomach that resembles something between a raisin and a prune….I don’t know, I guess it’s a rune? It makes me laugh every time I look at it, but in a good way; it reminds me of where I’ve been, and what my amazing body has accomplished.

I used to be the “fat” girl. I hope my sweet little girl will never be scarred by this label. I pray that she won’t be the teenager crying in the department store dressing room, that she’ll never experience the self doubt or the sense of worthlessness that comes from perceiving that you don’t belong because your particular body shape – however healthy – doesn’t fit into the skinny jeans, or whatever current fashion trend is king. I hope my son is never hurt by the comments that are already being uttered about him, however subtle: ‘he’s how old?’, ‘wow, he’s so big!’, ‘he weighs that much?’. But the world is tough. People judge and categorize one another. I’d like to think we’re all just a little bit better than that, but who among us hasn’t been guilty of defining another person in limited and narrowing terms, be it “fat” or “thin”?

I used to be the “fat” girl. But I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a mother in charge of raising part of the next generation, and I want to make sure that I’m doing the best job possible.
I hope I’m leading by example.

I hope I’m teaching my children that – regardless of the label another person may place on you, regardless of body size or shape – the most important thing is to be happy and confident in who you are.