You see that “fat little girl” in the picture? She has been with me all my life. I don't remember when we first met, but I remember her being with me as a child. People often mistook her for me and I was alright with that. She was what most people saw when they looked at me; she was who I saw when I looked in a mirror or at a picture. Even at those times in my life when I wasn't what most people would consider fat, I saw her. I knew she was still there and it was comforting in a way that is hard to explain.
I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know I was fat; my grandmother reminded me all the time. She would make a chocolate cake and buy Coca Cola. As she cut my cake and poured the Coke, she would make snide remarks about my big butt. My pediatrician talked to my grandmother in front me since fat girls apparently can’t hear or don't have feelings. When I fell and landed on a nail, he suggested that if I hadn’t been so overweight, the nail might not have gone so far into my foot.
We shopped at Sears because the clothes for girls came in “Chubby” sizes. Boys came in “Husky.” There was also a brand of clothes for girls called “Chubbettes.” There were also clothing rules for fat girls. You never wore horizontal stripes. Wearing black pants hide your big legs, thighs and rear. Another important thing was not to wear shirts tucked in. They should always be over-sized and pulled down to cover you. I never quite believed that they would hide my fat.
The kids at church and the school had special names for me. Sometimes they said them loud enough for me to hear, but most of the time they whispered and laughed. They didn’t want me to play on their kickball or volleyball teams. They only knew the fat girl; they never got to know me. I found that I could shut off my feeling of anger and sadness by eating. Food became my friend and “drug of choice.”
My weight has yo-yoed as an adult. By my senior year in high school, my short body developed curves in the right places. Looking back at pictures, I see a girl who was anything but fat, yet back then I still saw my “little fat girl.” When a boy would pay attention to me, I was grateful because we all know boys don’t want fat girls. Being grateful for attention from males created some unhealthy relationships in my life. It has taken a lot of time and many mistakes to overcome that issue.
About 6 years ago, my doctor told me that I “morbidly obese.” I was diagnosed with high blood pressure and pre-diabetes. Tests showed I had a fatty liver and the excess weight was causing arthritis to impact my joints. I weighed in a little over 300 pounds. I was wearing size 24. It took another year for me to decide to do something about my health.
It has been a challenging journey. In February of this year, I went back to the gym, got a trainer, and talked with a nutritionist to develop a plan for healthy eating. I have lost a total of 110 pounds over the past 5 years, losing sixty of those since February. I reduced my body fat percentage to 32% and now wear a size 16 pants. I don’t have to buy clothes in the plus size departments. I am off my medication for blood pressure and my blood sugar counts are normal without meds. I take risks that my “ little fat girl” told me I could never do. I walk across campus to another area instead of waiting until I have my car on campus. I went to a corn maze and walked on a hiking trail. I sit on the floor in school. I wear clothes that fit my body.
Despite all of this, I look in the mirror and still see the “fat little girl.” I still want to wear the big shirts and try to hide my body. I look at clothes in the store and argue with myself because I can’t imagine wearing a medium or large shirt. My “fat little girl” continues to influence every aspect of my life. She still tells me that I need donuts, cake, fried cookie dough and all the other foods that allow me hide my real feeling. She tells me it won’t hurt, but I know I can’t do it.
Last week I made the decision that it was time to say goodbye to her. I told her I was sorry and knew I would feel lost without her, but I had to let her go. I packed up all her XL, 1X and 2X shirts along with any pants that were too big and donated them. I don’t need to hide inside them anymore.
I am frighted when I think about going through my life without my “fat little girl.” I am going to miss her sense of humor and the ways she tried to protect me. She rode with me to the donation center and as I pulled out the bags of clothes, she understood I was letting her go. I drove away slowly fighting the urge to cry. I saw her in the rear-view mirror as she waved goodbye and walked into the store with bags of clothes. I am on my own now (with family and friends). I won’t have my “fat little girl” to make excuses for me anymore. Wish me luck.
