Why? Simply because I'm the word no one wants me to say out loud, but they're thinking it inside their head.
And I don't have to wonder why. I can tell you why. Because when I was 8 years old in the third grade, a boy named J.R. told me that I was fat. I know exactly where I was standing, I remember exactly what I was wearing: blue jeans, a long sleeved white tshirt and a yellow vest. I don't think I'll ever forget that day.
And ever since, I've known. Before that day, I was clueless. If you looked at me now you might not believe me, but until the summer before middle school, I was easily the tallest kid in my class. I towered over the girls and the boys had to look up to me just a little by default. I hit puberty early on in life and while my flat-chested friends joked about stuffing their training bras with tissue paper, I logically decided that if I could just figure out how, I'd trade my body with them in a heartbeat.
Looking back at my third grade self, I can most confidently assure you that I was not, even by my own critically high standards, fat. I was very tall and my body was developing much differently than my peers. I was six months older than most of my classmates and those six months made a big difference - no pun intended. I was active in sports, cheered for the Startown Tigers and played softball for the "purple" team - whatever that was.
My stomach was flat but you couldn't see that under the baggy clothes I started to wear. My legs were toned but I never wore shorts because, fat girls don't wear shorts. I began to despise gym because I just knew they would make fun of me for trying to do the things small people did. I had long legs and I could run swiftly, but I was terrified to. So I didn't.
And from that very moment in third grade when a boy told me exactly what I was, I became that.
I knew that boys would not be attracted to me because I wasn't thin enough and I was just too tall. I knew that fat girls didn't play sports, so just after I nailed my back handspring for the first time, I stopped cheering. I didn't have anyone at home telling me to play outside, so I didn't. I was a latchkey kid, I did what I wanted to and I did what I thought I was supposed to do.
By the time I was old enough to know any better, the damage was done. I began to fit the lifestyle of what I had been told I was. So when I looked in the mirror one day and saw that I had gained a lot of weight, I wasn't surprised. I thought I looked like I had always looked; I thought this was how I was supposed to look, according to J.R.
As an adult, I do know better. I know that eating right and staying active are important things to do. But the struggle for someone who grew up knowing what she was is real. It isn't as easy as just do it. There's a mental block that takes time to get over. About a year ago I actually got a message from J.R. on facebook. He apologized for what he said; he remembered. As vivid as I held onto the image of finding out that I was fat, he held onto the guilt of letting me know.
It's been 14 years since my struggle with weight began, and I can't blame the little kid in my third grade class for who I am today. I am my own person and I do make my own choices. I put myself in the position that I'm in today, but I can't help but wonder...
...what if I had never been told that what I was, was fat?
...what if someone would have looked me in the eye and told me that I was beautiful?
Wow, I can identify with this so much. And now I've gained so much weight in the last 4 years and I look in the mirror and think, you're finally as big as you always thought you were. I really need to stop that cycle, but it's so difficult.
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