I was in third grade when I became acutely aware of two things: I was fat and being fat was apparently a bad thing. One morning I was sitting cross-legged on the floor and a little boy behind me slid a pencil into my buttcrack and laughed. The next summer I was happily swimming at a pool when two little boys told me I looked like I was pregnant and laughed at me.
And then came middle school. Does anyone really enjoy middle school? Boys and girls going through puberty, feeling awkward in their bodies, and having to interact awkwardly with one another.
In sixth grade I was told by a boy that I shouldn’t talk to him until I’d gone to a beauty parlor. Later that year an attractive eighth grader asked me to be his girlfriend in front of his friends and they all started laughing. Oof.
Let’s not forget the unique torture that was gym class. I’d huff and puff whenever I was forced to run thanks to my exercise-induced asthma and my face would turn beet red. Students and teachers always commented on how red my face was. Oh the joys of having rosacea.
I grew up watching my mother criticize herself and her appearance. Between observing how she treated her body and being bullied by my peers, I came to hate the reflection looking back at me. I despised my body, and in many ways, I came to despise myself.
I started wearing makeup every day to hide my splotchy red face. My relationship with food was out of whack. Eating sweets was one of the few things that would make me feel better in the moment, but I struggled to find moderation.
I tried countless diets, joined many different exercise programs, and recruited my friends or family members to be my accountability partners. I would start off really committed, but after a while I would fall off. Instead of getting back on the horse, I’d berate myself and just give up altogether.
The older I became, the more conscious I was of the space my body took up in public. I avoided having photos taken of me, and I stopped going to the swimming pool because I hated how my body looked in a swimming suit.
The summer before my junior year of college, I taught Zumba classes three times a week AND attended a fitness boot camp 6 days a week for 10 weeks…but I still didn’t think I was thin enough or pretty enough. I saw myself as this awkward, fat, ugly woman that was only passable when I wore makeup.
I was so envious of one of my friends. Guys flocked to her whenever we went out. She was bubbly and gorgeous. Everyone loved her.
Meanwhile, gentlemen old enough to be my grandfather would eye me or grab at my ass. Not cool, guys. Not cool.
Online dating in college was a mixed bag. One guy told me I was fatter in person than in my photos. Another man told me he was “into bigger women.” Every time my body size was brought up, I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself.
When I was 27, I started reading The Body is Not An Apology by Sonya Renee Taylor. In the intro, Taylor writes about a friend who is disabled and became pregnant after having unprotected sex. The woman felt like sex was hard enough with her disability and she didn’t want to make it worse by demanding her partner wear a condom.
At that moment, Taylor says to her, “Your body is not an apology. You do not use it to say ‘sorry for my disability.” With that conversation, the idea for her book was born.
Taylor argues we shouldn’t settle for measly self-acceptance, but strive for radical self-love. She makes many connections about how our advertising and media has led countless people to feel label their own bodies as wrong.
Taylor writes that we are constantly comparing ourselves to the “ideal” body, which is often straight, White, land-owning, male, thin, and able-bodied. In all the ways we don’t meet that ideal, we think there is something wrong with us. And we will contort ourselves in any number of ways to get closer to that ideal.
But that ideal does not serve us. It doesn’t bring us more joy, love, security, or prosperity. It takes us farther and farther away from who we really are.
I am madly in love with the fact that many plus-sized femme content creators are showing themselves wearing whatever they want, from crop tops to bikinis. And masculine creators show off dresses, skirts, nail polish, and heels because it brings them joy. Watching these people love their bodies gives me hope that I can grow to love mine too.
While you won’t find me wearing a crop top (yet), you will see me rocking a tank top and shorts in the summer. Now I go to the pool when I want to rather than hiding away. This year I even took a few modeling classes, just because I could.
I keep inching closer to the radical self-love Sonya Renee Taylor talks about in her book, but for now I will settle for a bit of self-acceptance. I love my smile, my bright eyes, and my thick caboose.
What parts of your body have you learned to love? Leave a comment below!
