Dear Friends: Stop Telling Me You’re Fat and Ugly

“I just look so fat… I’m so gross.”

I frown. “No, don’t say that.

You’re not fat, and you’re gorgeous.”

“No, I’m disgusting. I look like a pig.”I have this conversation too often. Women significantly smaller than me hate their “fat bodies.” Meanwhile, my 300-pound self continues to wear loudly-colored dresses everywhere I go, whether I’m taking my dog outside or actually “going out,” as I did before the pandemic.

The problem is that so many women closely associate fatness with a lack of desirability when that’s a lie we’ve learned from people who don’t matter.

I’m sick of the lies, friends. I’m tired of watching beautiful people hate themselves, and accidentally bring down other women in the process. It’s not your fault; nobody’s ever told you how that makes them feel.

But I haven’t asked you how you’re doing lately, have I?I want to talk to you, but I’m not good at that. So I’ll write to you, instead.

What you’re saying when you say you’re “fat and ugly”.

I don’t hear these words used together unless they mean one thing: being fat is equivalent to being ugly.

The truth? It’s not. Fat shouldn’t automatically mean ugly, but for some reason, it does — in my opinion, often more to women than men. Whatever makes money, right?

I used to be called “fat” and the word seared my ears — my hands shot automatically towards the areas I felt I needed to cover, and shame blanketed my face the way obesity blanketed my body. “Fatness” made me carry my head so low for so long that there’s a crook in my neck — a battle scar of someone who’s made friends with her reflection on a tiled floor as she walked.

I didn’t want to meet someone’s eyes just to see their seething disdain reflected back at me.

And when you’re smaller than me, and telling me you’re fat and consequently ugly, are you not calling me ugly? I know you’re not trying to insult me, but it’s hurtful because I know exactly what’s going through your mind. But I’m used to fatness, and being hated for my fatness.

What’s more hurtful is the lies you tell yourself, beautiful human.

I can tell you every word you’re telling to yourself when you say you’re “fat and ugly.” How? I was there too.

I was you.

I used to hate every extra pound that didn’t bring me closer to “desirable.” Now? I just accept it. The word “fat” doesn’t heat my entire body with fear and anxiety anymore. Now, the word “fat” is just that — a word.

For me, “fat” is a fact without feeling. I weigh 300 pounds, so yes, I’m fat. But I’m also beautiful. No, not the “fat girl, pretty face” bullshit — I’m “fat girl, pretty girl,” because I said so.

Yes, it’s that simple in theory. Execution is much more difficult.

I used to hate my fatness, so I understand why you may hate the parts of you that aren’t perfect. It’s fucking hard being a woman. There are still parts about myself that I hate, and lies I tell myself that eat me up from the inside.

But I’ve been fragile, and I promise not to project my insecurities onto you. I know it hurts. We’re friends, right? Could you do the same for me?

If not… that’s okay, too.

As long as you know the truth.

What we forget about the truth.

I know you think you’re ugly because you’re fat, but here’s the truth you probably already know: you think you’re ugly because you hate yourself.

You’ve hated yourself for so long that you’ve forgotten what it means to just accept your existence. Every moment, your mind is plagued with thoughts of being “lesser than,” “unworthy,” and “not enough.” The tapes that play on loop in your head are reminiscent of a horror movie.

Fat. Ugly. Stupid. Loser. Lazy. Bad.
I suck. I suck. I suck. I suck. I suck.
Repeat.
Subconsciously.
All day.
All night.

Here’s the truth, beautiful human: these are lies you’ve accepted as labels. The shitty people of the world’s view of you has become the way you define yourself.

I still struggle to love myself (a lot of us do), but I don’t hate my body anymore.

Look in the mirror. See fatness for what it is: just a word. Does that pocket of fat on your belly make you a worse person? Does it make you cruel and unkind? Does it make you a bad mom, a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad friend?

No.

God, no.

Your weight — the way your literal meat suit is sculpted — cannot define you unless you choose to let it do so. Choose to define yourself by your terms.

Think about your dreams — are they going to wait for you because you’re busy wishing you were someone else? They want you right now, as you are. Your purpose needs your heart and soul, not your arms and belly.

I need you. I need your friendship and laughter, not your dress size.

Your daughter needs your love and support, not your dress size.

Your boyfriend needs your humor and affection, not your dress size.

You need your heartbeat and a healthy mind, not your dress size.

This is for you.If you’re reading this right now, whether I know you or not…

This is for you.

I love you.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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