I refuse to say “Thank You” when complimented. I refuse to enthusiastically accept your commentary on my appearance as some new fact. It may sound arrogant, conceited or generally obtuse but I've learned how to be unapologetic in all that I do. I won't take meager compliments because I have spent far too long appreciating foreign love. Love that did not come from within myself, love that I thought could save me when I stayed awake at night hating my skin and my hair.

Hating the way that my body moved.

Hating the word “fat”.

Being a fat individual comes with its own set of problem, challenges and successes. Where a thinner individual feels joy at their physical achievements like making sports teams, gaining muscle and such, a fat person feels joy at completing a yoga exercise without pausing to take a breath. With wearing shorter sleeves and feeling confident in those moments.

I have been on a lifelong journey to loving myself and silencing the voice of fear. The one that tells me everyone is staring at me, rating my perceived performance of humanity as I wade through masses of thinner people. The one that tells me my new favorite dress is too much. It’s too many lines, much too flowy, much too short. I’m showing off much too much of my body. I’m being too free.

The voice also tells me that I’m not enough. I’m not enough woman, not enough of a femme. I’m not happy enough, not appreciative of backhanded compliments enough, not confident enough.

I am too much and not enough at the same time. I am a living contradiction. My own breath wars in my lungs. I am fighting to be liberated from these conflicting thoughts that hold my mind prisoner. I am pushing back against the institution of thinness. The one that suffocates me and forces me to try to find myself in thin bodies. This is the same institution that forces me to find myself in White bodies, the one that disregards Brown and Black people.

Representation of all skin tones is obviously very much needed in both media and society, but the viciousness with which Whiteness relegates these images to boxes is haunting. It is enough to make you question your very humanity. The fetishization of the features of Brown and Black women are disgusting.

I am more than an “Angry Black Woman”. She is more than a “Spicy Latina”. The stereotype of “Terrorist”, of “Submissive and Meek”, of “Sexy Maid” is dehumanizing. Black and Brown people are not the stereotype that you think we are, we aren’t thugs and sluts, we aren’t stupid, and we are more than our work ethic.

The isolation that comes from these feelings of being put in a box, of being silenced is killing us. The same way that you assume an Asian student is smart or that a Black child is a thief are the same thoughts that get us murdered.

The centering of White bodies in the fashion industry, the culinary industry, the impressive Hydra that is Mass Media utilize these assumptions to sway opinion.

Have you ever noticed how the media uses wording to paint false pictures? In November of 2015, a photo surfaced of a White man spotted following a WOC with a rifle. His face was covered. The media headline said that he was walking.

Walking? Behind a WOC with a gun? You mean stalking, right?

That same month, a little black boy was killed because he was thought to have been touting a gun. He was 11 years old. His name was Tamir Rice. The media immediately started in on the fact that the police thought the gun was real, but he was playing with a toy, minding his own business. These same realistic guns are seen by White children, they are not gunned down and killed. Why is the reaction to persecute the child, the mother for letting her son play with a toy?

Because the Whiteness and inherent racism that comes with being White sees innocence and peace with fair folks and violence with darker ones. This same Whiteness (and Eurocentricity) sees illness and disgust with fatness. They see a large sloth that “should go to the gym”. They see rolls and think diabetes, they see breathing and think heart disease. They also think that a compliment coming from them should mean the world, it should be something that fat WOC people cherish. They think that their approval means something and it doesn’t.

It’s not to say that your compliment of my person isn’t received well but don’t expect me to act like I don’t love myself. Like your attitude on my body is awe-inspiring. Like I don’t know my worth. Don’t treat me like a charity case to make you feel good about yourself. I am not here for your satisfaction and affirmation of humanity. I won’t give you a pat on the back for your good deed of the day. I don’t owe you anything.

I have come to love this body, the way that it moves and takes space. I am in awe of my own self, and you should be too.