According to a quick Google search, 91% of women are unhappy with their body. So it would be a pretty safe bet to call me a liar if I told you I was happy with my body.
The first time I can recall having an issue with my body was when I was fairly young,7 or 8, and a family friend said I was fat. Now let me be completely honest with you, I was nowhere close to fat at that age. I was a large kid, I’ll give you that, I mean I was 5’8″ by the time I was in 5th grade and compared to the kids with largely Mexican and Italian lineages I was a goddamn giant, but I was not fat.
From that point it seemed to become more of an issue. Puberty hit me fast and it hit me early and let me tell you, I was not happy with my changing body. I began to gain weight, as girls do when hormones start acting up. It probably wouldn’t have bothered me so much if it hadn’t have bothered my mother.
Now, my mother never forced me into a diet but there where things that she did that did me damage. Like the questions every time we went to the doctor, the gentle rebukes about how much I ate, the “if you lost some weight you could wear these cute things.” They build up.
I use to have this version of me in my head, the perfect me who could wear whatever, whose hair was always done right, who would be adore, all because I weighed 150 lbs. I use to keep a list of all the little things wrong with my body as if I could check them off one by one and when I was done I would be perfect. My life would be perfect. Honestly, that me, that skinny bitch, she had to fucking go.
Okay, first of all, lets be entirely straight, I’m never going to weigh 150 pounds, not without removing a few limbs. My lean body mass is around 170 pounds and I’m not even lifting weights like I use to. I am just a big person. Back in high school when I was riding my bike about 4-5 miles a day and going to the gym regularly, when I was a probably my most active ever, I weighed between 205-215. I had fat on my stomach and cellulite on my thighs and you know what? I was fucking healthy. You know what else I was?
I was big, I am big, my body type is big and learning to accept that has been a journey. It took reading articles. It took looking at my body with a objective eye, relearning the language I used to describe myself. It took reevaluating everything I ever though about my body over the years. Though I can’t exactly say I love everything about my body. I can say that I accept it. Plus, I definitely have more positives to say about it these days.
My body is big, it is soft, and it is strong. It has rolls and curves and hair in weird places. It doesn’t look good in skinny jeans but it can fill out the right kind dress really well. My body, it’s not perfect, but it’s okay, and I’m okay with that.