“God I’m Fat”
Posted by Laney
“God I’m fat.” All day, every day – regardless of what I’m doing- that’s the sentence running through my head. A mantra, if you will, reminding me that regardless of how many people tell me I’m “curvy” or “bodacious,” my size 14 (16, on a bad day) frame isn’t going to fit into those cute new jeans or that ridiculously adorable blouse.
To say anything else makes me feel like a liar… And since I can’t sweep my extra pounds or jiggling butt under the rug, I feel like a rather transparent one. Perhaps that’s why I spend so much time sitting at my computer; I’m a successful Beauty Blogger and I spend my days dishing on the hottest shoes and shiniest lip gloss. Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable to have such a title, when I’m so far from identifying with the glamorous models in each campaign I review.
It doesn’t matter that I know the ads I’m working with have been airbrushed, touched up, retouched, and then edited again. I don’t care that the pouty model stomping down the runway has probably been pumped with collagen, and undoubtedly didn’t even have cake on her last birthday. None of those women have ever left a store empty-handed and downtrodden because there wasn’t a single piece of clothing that made her feel attractive.
Fall fashions? Back to school wardrobe? What jokes. It’s severely less embarrassing for me to mix and match last seasons must haves than it is to spend forty five minutes trying on pants that make my thighs look like holiday hams. Besides, I know it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing- I’m going to feel like everyone’s staring at me for all the wrong reasons anyway.
Every day I log on and shout the pros of plaid, the virtues of diverse color palettes, and the flat-out sex appeal of leather. Every day, I get up and put on jeans, a plain tee, and flip flops. Whatever draws the least attention, hides the most of my flaws. The rest I paint with makeup. Oh, how I love makeup. I started wearing it when I was in elementary school, when I first started to feel like I was less than the other girls.
Eight years later, I know exactly how to contour, highlight, curl, and gloss- anything to keep eyes on my face and off my wide hips and not-so-flat stomach. I feel as though my beauty arsenal is one of the few ways I can connect with my female friends, as I assume that regardless of how long they’ve known me, they must be judging me. If I keep the conversation centered around how best to lengthen our lashes, I hope that they won’t notice that I’ve cleaned my plate.
Oh, and eating. Another aspect of my life which makes me feel dishonest. I feel a great pressure to announce how hungry I am and pretend I haven’t eaten all day (like anyone looks at me and believes that) before any meal with those not in my immediate circle. My hope is that if I eat what others surely consider a “normal” amount, my company will assume it’s because I’m famished- not fat.
Dining with my boyfriend’s family has become a particular point of contention. When I first vacationed at his parents’ house, I was too uncomfortable to help myself to any food during the day. So of course, dinner with the brood really was the first time I’d eaten during the day, and since I out-ate his very petite mother, I apparently gained a reputation as the girl who can eat. Now, I can’t have a meal at his house without repeatedly hearing, “Oh, Laney will finish that,” and “don’t worry, Laney will eat the rest of it.”
The only place I really feel safe is at my mother’s house. She’s a solid 18/20, and has fluctuated throughout the plus size range her entire life. From her I learned some do’s- and some definite don’t’s- for larger women. In return, I’ve shared every beauty tip in my arsenal. And we eat together… Without worry of judgement, criticism, or insult. It’s heaven. So’s her chocolate cake.
Regardless of what the tags in her clothing say, I’ve never thought of my mother as a plus size woman. Even my friends who I’m sure shop the same racks as I do-they’re just gorgeous girls that I know. In fact, there’s no woman I know that I mentally categorize as “fat,” other than myself. If I heard them talking about themselves the way I speak about myself, there’s no way I’d let it slide. I would praise their assets without hesitation- not in the clenched jaw manner I do when a size six buddy complains about her ass- in hopes of helping them see the beautiful person the rest of the world does.
But me? God I’m fat.
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I feel this so completely. Especially about eating in front of people. I always try to eat less than I want or to be hungry for longer than comfortable if there’s anyone around who I’m not super comfortable with – anyone in my husband’s family, for example. They’re all so thin. Mine, on the other hand, is not, has never been. I never felt so subconscious around them as I do the in laws. Eating is just one thing where I’m sure people are looking at me and judging me; they must relate everything I do or say to my weight. They must be focusing on it because I surely do. Sometimes I try to hide but feel like it’s impossible. How can a fat person ever hide?
.-= Adriana´s last blog ..What I like in Reviews =-.
This makes me sad. Pretend you are your own daughter. Don’t call her fat names.
I know the feeling. I feel that way almost daily. When I first met my Husband I was staying at his place for the week. The first three days I didn’t eat anything but half a sandwich. Eating in front of anyone is still super uncomfortable. Hopefully some day I’ll get over it.
.-= Juliettia´s last blog ..HNT =-.
God I relate and identify so well. I was a solid little girl. I had broad shoulders and was bigger and taller than all the other petite little girls I was in class with. I was taller than even some of the boys. I felt giant. I thought I was such a fat kid but in retrospect, I really wasn’t. In 4th grade, while other girls had on their barely needed training bras I was wearing a B-Cup and gaining weight. I felt so awkward and so fat. I played sports and put on weight and muscle. I was so big compared to other girls my age. I got so self-conscious about eating that I wouldn’t eat in front of people. I thought they were watching, giggling, wondering how much I would eat. I got to where I would nibble here and there because I was embarrassed. Then I’d be so hungry later that I’d actually eat a normal sized portion when I was alone. My parents would have dinner parties and I wouldn’t eat in front of any of them. They’d pinch my chubby cheeks and make comments about what a “big” girl I was and all I could think was how fat I was. So, I’d pick at food and not eat much. I didn’t realize how unhealthy what I was doing was. I was so active playing sports and exercising a lot at a young age but I wouldn’t eat much in front of people. And when I was starving after a 2 hour hockey or softball practice because I hadn’t hardly eaten during the day, I would also mention that I hadn’t eaten all day. I still only ate a normal amount of food but I still felt a need to explain why I wasn’t eating less. I ended up with an eating disorder because of the way I saw myself.
I have a boyfriend now who bitches at me when I try to get by without eating much. I have a boyfriend now who gets happy when I eats a normal size meal. I still at times feel like a fat ass and feel like I should be eating less. I’m happier and healthier than I used to be but I still have issues eating in front of people. I assume they must be judging and laughing because really, that’s what I do to myself.
And I do the same thing. I have friends who are bigger in size than I am yet I jump on their ass if they call themselves fat or get down on themselves about their looks. I honestly see them in all their beauty but can’t see myself the same way.
Great post. Thank you for sharing.
.-= Amorous Rocker´s last blog ..HNT: Physical Flaws =-.
When I say something disparaging about my body, my husband always says “Hey – don’t talk about my wife like that! I love her just the way she is.” It’s his way of reminding me that talking bad about myself hurts him just as much as it hurts me.
Also, I am jealous that you know how to do your makeup and know fashion. I’m terrible at those and cannot do my hair to save my life.
.-= Sheila (Charm School Reject)´s last blog ..This Post Is Not for the Faint of Heart. Just So You Know. =-.
Me too.
Every single time I look in the mirror or look down or put on clothes or take a shower. I hate shopping, the plus size sections are so tiny compared to the rest of the store. And there’s still the fact that clothing designers for chain department stores believe one of the two statements about fat women: 1. they’re older and matronly 2. they’re tall like the “plus size” models who wear the clothes in the ads.
I’m neither. My selection is small and yeah, I’m fucking bitter about it. But mostly I hate comparing myself and realizing that once I’m naked (shuddup all those who like my HNT pics, they’re selectively cropped and angled and posed) it’s going to take a special man to still be attracted to me, rolls and cellulite and all. Sure I have a pretty face and great cleavage. But I hate what I see usually. In my mind I’m fixated on the “old me” that was 130 pounds. When will my mind realize that that was 10 years ago and I should stop being mildly surprised when I look at the fat? When I can’t find decent clothing? When I have to go to 12 stores just to find something that doesn’t make me feel even bigger.
And my mother…..who everytime I see her skinny ass can cut me down with a casual glance. Who will pat my tummy rolls and tell me to get a girdle. Who will innocently give me articles on diabetes and heart disease and “you’ll die an early death” and “you’ll feel better if you lose weight”. She’ll alternate between one year getting me a Weight Watchers frozen dessert for my birthday dessert, or recently having some sort of baked goods around the house for me.
.-= Lilly´s last blog ..How Long? Not yet. =-.
You said “Even my friends who I’m sure shop the same racks as I do-they’re just gorgeous girls that I know. In fact, there’s no woman I know that I mentally categorize as “fat,” other than myself.”
That’s so true. I’ve struggled with watching people that I love who are “overweight.” They don’t want their pictures taken and they think they are ugly. It’s awful, because all I see are beautiful people that I love. I never even considered my mom to be overweight, though technically she is to some degree. I just don’t… consider it? It doesn’t make her less of a person.
one good beauty tip is to have sufficient rest, lots of fluid and nutitious foods.-,.