I knew I was fat when I started gaining the weight in high school.
I knew I was fat when I reunited with an old boyfriend after not seeing each other for 5 years and he told me that I was perfect in every way, except for my "physique".
I knew I was fat when I started shopping in the plus size section.
I knew I was fat when I needed plus size stores, and not just a section.
I knew I was fat when I saw a doctor, two dietitians and a therapist for my binge eating disorder.
I knew I was fat when I realized I felt safer and less likely to be victimized in a body I felt was less accepted and considered attractive by society.
Being fat doesn't make me stupid. I know what being fat does to my body. I know that some of my physical ailments would be eased with the loss of some weight. I also know what being fat will do to my body in the future.
I know I'm fat, and you're not hurting my feelings by telling me something everyone can see. What hurts my feelings is when people can't see past it.
I once worked for a large, well-known company as a contract employee. I started during what was supposed to be the slowest time of the year, but for the first three months on the job I was working full-time with overtime (in addition to working a seasonal job). Things were going well, my coworkers seemed to like me, my supervisors seemed to appreciate me and I was often complimented on my hard work.
I enjoyed my job until one day I went into the break room where one of my coworkers (who would later become my supervisor) was sitting. I jokingly suggested we run away because I was tired of working that day.
His response? "Well, you could get a sugar daddy and you wouldn't have to work anymore, but you'd have to lose some weight first."
I could've laughed off the inappropriate sugar daddy joke, but the weight comment stung because I thought we were friendly and he himself was morbidly obese. He regularly told me what a hard worker I was, I thought he saw me as a hard worker and not just a fat person.
I should have reported him for sexual harassment. At the very least, I should have told him to go kick rocks, but I was too shocked. I'd busted my butt to make sure deadlines were met. I'd worked more overtime than anyone in addition to working another job and he had complimented me on my work ethic countless times.
That isn't the first time I've encountered that in the workplace. It isn't the first time I've encountered that in public or anywhere.
I am fat. I might even be a bitch. I am also more than a fat bitch.
I am a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. I'm fairly intelligent (at least intelligent enough to know that being fat doesn't make someone stupid). I'm good at my job. I read up on current events. I strive to eat healthy. I'm a pretty good speller. I'm sexy and there are people who are attracted to ME just as I am. I'm kind. I am a yogi. I am an animal lover. I am all these things and so much more.
But most importantly, I am a person.
At 29 years old, I struggle with accepting my body the way it is. I would love to be able to say"Fuck your Beauty Standards" and feel beautiful in my skin, but I can't because I feel like so much of who I am as a physical person is proof that I am failing by falling victim to the things that have happened to me. That doesn't change the fact that I am still a person. I am still a person with feelings and thoughts and I am part of this human experience whether or not anyone likes it.
Absolutely no one is perfect. No one. If "fat" is the worst thing someone can think of to call me, then I am not failing too horribly at being a decent human being, and that's why I think using "fat" as a means to insult me is such a low blow.
This has been a Sunday Confession. The topic was "Low".