I stand up on the scale just outside of my room, a mirror set against the wall as I stare in horror looking down at the measurement, weighing me at a ‘disgusting’ number of 210. Later that night, I stare down at my plate as I rummage around the food with my fork, listening to everyone talk about their days as they bite into the delicious smelling — and looking — food that my mother had made, without even worrying about how many calories they were consuming with that one small bite. Soon after, I wait until everyone is gone as I throw away my meal, going to bed with a hungry stomach screaming at me to eat; but I don’t listen, hugging myself to try to comfort and settle the hunger I had.
I had this feeling every single day, just staring down at the weight never going down. Due to this, I consistently starved myself for nights, days, weeks, and even months – just to see that number weighed by a machine go down. I knew it was awful, I knew that what I was doing wasn’t healthy, but hearing people I loved calling me chubby? I couldn’t stand it. Even if they said it was ‘cute.’
Not everyone has this experience, of course. Some people genuinely just embrace their body size from the day they were born, and have zero insecurities about the topic– if someone brings it up, they can just stand against them and use one simple sentence: “So? What about it?” I admire people who can stand up for themselves, it means that they’re extremely strong-minded, and no one can tear down who they are. Unfortunately for me, I’m not so strong. I don’t know how to not take people’s words to heart, how to not listen to anyone’s hurtful opinion, how to not take their advice and force myself to lose weight; it’s difficult, and no one realizes just how much it hurts.
When I was 10 years old, I got back from an extremely traumatic experience, where I ate nothing but rice, beans, and cornbread every single day. When I came back home and started going to school in Wentzville, I was starving, trying to gain back any weight I had lost the past year. However, people made fun of me whenever they noticed I started losing my skinnier frame and started to form more weight on my fragile bones. I tried to ignore everyone’s mean words, even the attacking words that came from my friends’ mouths. The more I grew older, the more weight I gained. I just wanted something to stop the harassment, and something to stop my embarrassment from even leaving outside with clothes that framed my body; COVID, funnily enough, was my saving grace.
My family and I moved away for my mom’s new job during quarantine, but the catch was that it was in Jonesboro, Arkansas. I hung out with my friends one last time at a park in Wentzville, but all they did was insult how out of breath I was after running, or how I ‘consistently ate’. They made fun of me deliberately, and the moment we arrived in Jonesboro, I dropped my friends and decided I was going to make a new start, a new beginning.
What’s interesting is that despite COVID being terrible, it actually helped me with my self-confidence, and also helped me along my journey of trying to love my body. Throughout living in Arkansas, COVID was my only worry in life, worrying about if I was going to get sick, or if any of my loved ones were going to get sick from the infectious disease; it honestly made me forget about my body for an extremely long time. I moved back to Missouri my freshman year, and words could not describe the absolute fear I felt when realizing I would be around other students again. I didn’t know if people would be more accepting of me, or if I would be reminded once again that being fat is ‘disgusting’, and I would be bullied for it.
On the first day of freshman year, I walked into my first hour, sitting down on a bean bag as everyone already knew each other. I had no other friends, and more importantly, no table to sit at. I thought I was already going to be classified as a loner until I heard someone acknowledge me. She invited me to sit with her and the two other students at the table, and not once did the group mention my body- instead, they complimented me and said I was so nice and so pretty, and that was that. I’m still best friends with the one girl who acknowledged me that day, and I am ever so thankful for her kindness, and how she only recognized my personality, not how I looked on the outside.
I’m a junior in high school now, and of course, I still get mean glares, or I see people whispering about my body behind my back; I genuinely don’t think that’s ever going to go away. I’ve met amazing people along the way, I’ve laughed and bonded with teachers, and I’ve even discovered a career path I want to pursue in college; My life didn’t end when I was just 10 years old and I was being bullied for being too chubby, my life didn’t end when I left all of my friends due to their hurtful comments regarding my body & my voice, and more importantly, my life didn’t end that first day of freshman year.
So now I stand in front of the same mirror leaning against the wall, trying on new outfits that compliment my body as my sister calls me for dinner. The scale is now gone as I run upstairs excitedly, taking in the amazing scent of the dinner my mom’s boyfriend had made for us. I take my seat, and instead of waiting for everyone to be done so I can throw away the delicious-looking food afterward? I stay there and eat along with everyone else, talking about our days, falling asleep with a happy stomach; and also a content mind to realize that I am not my body – I am me. And no one can change my perspective anymore.
