Itâs so heavy. It screams ânobody caresâ-âyou are worthlessâ- âeveryone else matters but you donâtâ-âyou arenât safe without fatâ-âfood is what loves you the world does notâ.
This weight you see around my waist is my protection. It is gained so that you see past the vessel I entered, and look at the soul that I am. A soul that is protected from a world that has sent her a memo more times that she can count, that being small and pretty sums her up enough and that no other qualities matter.
I am here to tell you it does not. I am so much more. So much more than what the weight tells me I am.
This may just be the most honest writing piece I have ever written. Â I am showing up raw, honest, and overweight. I am here to tell you a story of a girl who thought she never had the right to say no. A girl who used to be me.
I was a provocative teenager. I had all the signs of a student that needed to be asked some very particular questions, but nobody ever did. Nobody saw me unless I was either provocative or being an adult in a teen body. There was no inbetween.
Apparently, this behavior of mine, was an open invitation to a high school male teacher of mine, who didn’t think twice, to kiss me on the lips in front of my friend one day after school. Since this was not the first time an older “gentlemen” had taught me that I didn’t have the right to say “no” or have ownership to my own being, I never told a soul. I was under the impression I was here to serve and make others happy, even at the expense of my very being. Even when my body revolted, I hushed her and told her -â you are there to make others happy- you donât matterâ.
I desperately tried to gain weight in college. Many thought it was a gift to eat everything you want and not gain a pound. I saw it as curse that kept me unsafe. I walked the streets of Boston desperate for someone to invest in who I truly was, then seeing a size 0/2 pretty girl who felt wildly unsafe in a world that had gifted her the inability to feel like she owned herself. Instead I was called âeasyâ becauase I gave my rights over to anyone willing to seek them.
Every cat call, very touch of my backside, every lude comment, I grew deeper into being a person that desperately wanted to cocoon herself. I never felt pretty, I felt dirty, unworthy, used, and misunderstood.
In my twenties, I believed the man I dated for years, that nobody would ever want me. I was at my prime. On the outside I was dating a handsome man and I carried myself like a woman who wouldnât need to be reminded she was pretty. It was the greatest facade of my life. I felt worthless and hopeless. When he cheated on me, I knew it was my fault for not being enough. I knew this when he scraped half my dinner off my plate because my size 0/2 body wasnât small enough. I knew this when he reminded me I wasnât marriage material or mother material, and that he was the best I could get. I walked away from that relationship more broken then I couldâve ever imagined another person could do to another.
Apparently, I was worthy of marriage and motherhood, to a family that deserved the goodness of me. I felt my safest at a size 22. Certainly, I didn’t feel my best or the healthiest, but safest yes! People listened to what I had to say, and cared about my heart. They also said hurtful things like “You have such a pretty face”, and “Didn’t you have a baby a year ago?”. I felt terrible about my outside self, but being less desirable would mean I didn’t have to worry.
A decade later, I lost a ton of weight, and I received so much love and support. Who doesn’t want to be called beautiful? One should have felt fulfilled and whole. I felt a familiar crutch on feeling like my looks was my “in” with the world. I also started to feel increasingly unsafe.
Recently, I had found comfort in my current size of a 12/14 to be a winning combo. I feel authentically pretty, while protected. I don’t get as many colorful comments, and many actually take the time to get to know my heart. My doctor still reminds me I am overweight for my age, my eating habits haven’t been the greatest lately, and I need to work out more, but I feel FINALLY like I own me.
I have the right to say no.
I am enough.
I have the right to own who I am: mind, BODY, and soul.
And my pretty face has always been the least interesting thing about me. Those that love me the most know this.
It took me 41 years to realize the males that took away my innocence, or my right to love me first, no longer have the power. I don’t owe the world their happiness before mine. I owe me my purest truth.
The truth is I am beautiful not for what i am, but who I am.
The truth is I am finally me. I am safe. I have a voice. I own ME. And most importantly I have the power to help raise a generation of girls that do too (including my own amazing daughter).
I might have a pretty face. I also may never look amazing in a bikini again. However, I can promise you, my soul is one of the rarest you will ever see. And to me-is the gold.
I am no longer the words that were spoon fed to me both verbal and non- verbal. Sometimes the most seemingly together person, is the most broken. You never know a persons story until you take the time to ask.
A pretty face doesnât tell a heart.
A soul does.
A size 2 or 22 – my soul is fn beautiful.
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