I Already Know I’m Fat
By: Rachael Hope
Tags: Self, Body Image, Health, Fat, Equality

Newsflash!

I Already Know I’m Fat

Your attempts to shame me for it only stoke my fire

Photo by Tiffany Burke (provided by Author)

When you walk through life in a body that society deems untenable, moments of imposed shame are so constant they become commonplace. It’s not that you get used to them exactly; more that when they happen there is a complete lack of surprise.

Fat shaming comes in countless shapes and sizes.

Shame is a pervasive emotion; it’s primal and raw, and often times devastating. Much like human beings, fat shaming comes in countless shapes and sizes. At its core, it’s an act of bullying, singling out, making fun, joking about, or discriminating against someone because they are fat. Fat shaming is dangerous. It promotes disordered eating and can lead to stress and depression. It’s insidious and it eats away at us from the inside out.

When I sat down to write about fat shaming and how it feels, I looked up definitions and articles and perused the net. I can explain what fat shaming is, but that’s not why I’m here. Unsettled, I couldn’t seem to narrow in on what I really wanted to say about the self-hatred our society expects of fat women in particular. The mere idea of being shamed for the shape of my body brings up such vitriol in me that my fingers freeze on the keyboard.

I could tell you about all of the times I’ve been shamed for the size and shape of my body. There are so many that it’s easy to recall examples, and at the same time I feel as though if I start listing them, there may not be an end in sight.

At the dentist, when the hygienist inexplicably mentions that eating a low carb diet can help with something or other, then follows it up with “oh, but you’re probably already doing that,” I can only assume she means because I must be diabetic? Or trying to lose weight? I don’t ask for clarification, but later I kind of wished I had.

On the cross-state journey to visit my sister, when I have to ask three separate times on three separate planes for a seat belt extender despite the fact that cars and trucks and buses come with belts long enough for bigger bodies.

At any newsstand when I see magazine after magazine with words like success and new life and impressive tacked onto the afters, but where bodies like mine are only in the failure of before.

I could try to explain how it feels to have people find your existence offensive.

At the theater to finally see Hamilton, something I’ve been dreaming of for years, when I sit down and feel how the armrests squeeze my hips, when I know I’ll be conscious of my seat for the entire show.

At McDonald’s, when we stop for a family lunch after running around at the park, and I don’t fit in the booth my kids pick out in the play area. This seems especially ironic to me when I consider where we are.

At the office, when New Year’s rolls around again and I get to listen to my co-workers talk daily about diets, salads, and gym routines and how much better they’ll be if they lose weight.

I could try to remember, dredging up old memories of feeling singled out, discriminated against, or looked down on because my body takes up more space. I could try to explain how it feels to have people put on a mask of concern when they try to convince you that the reason they are shaming you is for your own good, your own health, rather than because they find your existence offensive.

If I really want to get personal, I could delve into the connection between my fatness and my romantic life. Maybe I could tell you about all of the times I’ve heard that I’m not fat, sometimes followed by ‘you’re beautiful,’ as if being fat and being beautiful are mutually exclusive and you can’t possibly be one and the other.

Then, there’s the mother of all fat shames, ironically born of someone’s own shame at perceived rejection. This particular type of venom is spat in the moments when someone tries to convince himself that he can’t be rejected by you because you are a fat, ugly beast and he never wanted you to begin with.

why didn’t you tell me AFF is adult fat finder? Cannot believe the women and their photos… what world do you live in?

Well, this is a loaded question if I’ve ever seen one. Ironically, I don’t think he actually wanted to know what world I live in, but I don’t let that stop me. Ask and you shall receive.

I live in a world where people think it’s okay to send hateful, negative messages asking me how I could possibly dare to exist.

I live in a world where grown men who feel rejected deal with it by lashing out and trying to hurt strangers to make themselves feel less insecure. In this particular exchange, the first message he sent me said “Hi” and had a more friendly tone. I can only assume that he got angry because 8 hours later, I hadn’t responded. So he decided that he wasn’t actually interested anyway, because I’m too fat for him.

*record scratch*

In what world does that make any kind of sense? This isn’t elementary school, there are no backsies, attempts to convince me that you weren’t interested in the first place by insulting me are poorly executed at best. I’m not even going to get into the thinking behind the lack of consideration for the idea that I just hadn’t had time to check my messages yet that day.

I live in a world where people think it’s okay to send hateful, negative messages asking me how I could possibly dare to exist, to want to date, or to experience physical intimacy given my weight. In this world, I can be objectified, I can be someone’s BBW fetish, but if I don’t respond to it positively I become repulsive. The first thing they jump to is always the size and shape of my body.

I live in a world where people see me as less than because I am more than. In this world, it’s so easy for people to pull out the insult fat, they barely even have to try. I have learned that the world believes that because of my weight, I should be alone, I don’t deserve to have men like me, I don’t deserve to feel sexy, I don’t deserve intimacy or pleasure. I don’t even deserve to be treated with common courtesy.

If you think you’re going to catch me off guard with the fact that I’m fat, I’ve got some news for you. I already know I’m fat. I’m sorry to steal the satisfaction you would have felt if I’d been surprised at this fact, or at the fact that some men are not attracted to me. There seems to be this strange and pervasive idea that fat women look in the mirror and see something other than what’s there.

Why is the idea that I deserve to be treated just as well as anyone else regardless of my BMI or pants size something that takes this much convincing?

I think about the size of my body all the time. There’s a reason I am careful to include a full body shot on any dating profile I make. The idea of it is that people like this clever dude, who only prefer one type of woman, will not contact me. There are plenty of men who find me attractive just the way I am, and I don’t for each person who doesn’t to tell me so.

I’m not interested in your assessment of my shape, or of your opinions about how ashamed I should feel. Being surrounded by the media, TV, movies, and magazines imposing shame and other-ness on me is exhausting. So when people like this guy come along telling me how disgusting and worthless I am, you’ll have to forgive me for not having any patience left to give.

It’s taken me over 35 years to really believe that it’s not me who needs to change. The world needs to get with the times and recognize that people come in all shapes and sizes. I’m tired of being asked to stop existing. Some days I feel like I’m screaming into a void. How many times do I have to recount being told I’m not good enough for people to understand it? Why is the idea that I deserve to be treated just as well as anyone else regardless of my BMI or pants size something that takes this much convincing?

So, what world do I live in? I live in a world of bullies, but I’m not worried because I left that shit behind in grade school.

I am lucky that my mind is in a place where I get to make a choice every day. That I have developed the strength over time to use your intended shame as tinder to stoke the fire in my belly. Some days I don’t feel strong, but most days the muscle memory of the shaming I’ve experienced is just more fuel. I am righteous, and I am worth being treated with respect.

This is how I look. I am done being ashamed.

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