I remember the first time I was called fat. I was in middle school, a time where vanity was all too precious and the word fat wasn’t simply an adjective, but the one thing everyone feared to be called. Before that instance, I never thought my weight to be an issue.

I wish I could report that I forgot about it, that I didn’t gain a lot of weight and that I was able to learn to love my extra fat. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. No, that moment resonated with me for a long time. I gained about one-hundred and seventy pounds from that point forward.

It was very complicated. Complicated because I did not hate who I was. I only hated this one part of me. A part I did not believe I could control. I lived in a never-ending battle between self-acceptance and self-hatred. It was difficult for my friends and family to understand.

It was even harder for them to understand why it was such a task to walk down the one flight of stairs in my home, why I kept declining invitations to the mall, the park and anything that would make me break out in sweat. Eventually, it did not take much for that to occur.

This made me very timid, I felt like people would constantly judge and make fun of my size. Walking into a room was petrifying. I had to walk in with someone else, scan the room and pray the spot wasn’t too small for me to fit. I wished upon the stars the chair would hold out with my weight.

Standing up in front of the class was an entirely different animal. It looked as if everyone marveled at how the fat girl only seemed to get fatter.

I took comfort in wearing the same kind of clothing, leggings and a tee shirt and any time there was even a slight change, I would panic. Nothing would ever fit and I grew to loathe myself.

I saw these wonderful success stories and wondered why I was still sitting on my bed doing nothing. Standing up was hard, I couldn’t imagine how strenuous exercising would be.

I hid this from my family and friends. I tried to make it seem like I was content with myself. I didn’t want them to pity me, I figured I did enough of that. I had to stop feeling bad about everything I hadn’t done over the past few years and strive to do better.

When I look in the mirror now, I see someone thinner, someone better off than before. However, I still feel like the fat girl. I still battle with the behaviors I obtained from that period. I wear clothes that are too big because I fear that I will look fat to others. I obsess over my weight in fear I will gain it all back. Trying on new clothes is still scary. I hate walking into a room on my own. I am afraid of what people see when they first look at me. I pray that I will fit into small spaces.

Losing weight does not change your image of yourself. Being skinny will not make you happy and it will certainly not solve your problems. Look within and appreciate who you really are, I assure you, it will begin to translate to your outer self. Don’t be so harsh about what you haven’t achieved. Show yourself the love you do to others.

Accept yourself and the body you have. Only then, will you be able to lose weight, look in the mirror and be satisfied with all that you are.