How many of us have a laundry list a mile long of all the things we hate about our bodies? How many of us hold on to smaller sized outfits in hopes of someday fitting into them and reliving our glory days? How many of us say, “I won’t do this or that until I lose weight”? How many of us think our lives would be happier if we just lost those last 10 pounds? Not sure about the rest of you, but all of the aforementioned applied to me.
I have hated so many things about my body. My big ears with detached earlobes – cute little earrings always look so stupid on me. My flat feet – I can’t wear strappy, high heeled sandals because of the unsightly gap between my foot and the shoe. My fat arms – they look like a kindergartener’s thighs. The freckles on my face – I’ve tried countless foundations to cover them and I’m yet to find one that does the job well. I can go on and on…
My outlook on my body (and subsequently, myself) changed a year ago. A year ago, my dear friend, Della passed away from breast cancer. She was 38 years old. Della was beautiful both inside and out. She was a girl’s girl, her energy was magnetic. Her spirit was a beautiful contradiction of sorts; she was strong and gentle. She was electrifying yet peaceful and serene. My last visit with her changed my life in so many ways and I’ll forever be grateful for the gift of that last conversation. One of the ways in which it changed me was that it taught me to love my body for I only have one and the only thing that matters is that it’s healthy. Della’s body wasn’t healthy and during her courageous battle with cancer, she had one objective and one objective only: GET HEALTHY. Seeing her so sick filled me with immense grief, but it also made me feel disgust for myself. How can I take for granted this healthy body that my dear friend would do anything for? I’ve wasted years hating things about it; I’ve passed up on opportunities. This realization made me feel so stupid. But, in order to move forward and establish a new, loving relationship with this body, I had to make peace with why I started to hate it in the first place.
As a child growing up in a Latino household, “gordita” was a term of endearment given to me at birth. Honestly, I thought it WAS my name for a long time, that’s how often my family referred to me as such. My jerk cousin, Jayson, once mailed me a picture of a Sumo wrestler with my name scribbled on the top. I remember being so excited I actually got mail, but my little heart sank when I saw what it was. I think I was 6 at the time. My parents would often say, “we’ll buy you (toy du jour) if you lose weight”. My weight was a constant topic of contention. From a young age, I was made aware that something was wrong with me. I was fat. Ironically, when I see pictures of myself during my childhood, I wasn’t exactly fat. I was a healthy, robust kid – but not fat. Nevertheless, this constant nagging about my weight was what started my toxic relationship with my body.
As I entered adolescence, my weight began to rise. I was called gorda, fatty, barrel, Miss Piggy, for so long that what difference did it make if I stuffed myself with McDonald’s and Twinkies? At my heaviest, I was 180lbs at 5’3”. Determined to not sit home alone on Senior Prom, I started Jenny Craig 6 months before prom. Excited she’d finally have a skinny daughter, my mom foot the bill. Three thousand dollars later, I was 55lbs lighter. No one prepares you for the emotional and mental change that comes with such dramatic weight loss. Suddenly, people on the street were nicer. Men would look at me, they would smile and open doors. It was exhilarating and addictive. The rush I got from purchasing clothes labeled “XS” and “S” was like no other. I wanted to be this way forever and I would do anything for it.
Once I got off Jenny Craig, it was difficult to maintain my weight. I didn’t learn how to eat, I simply learned how to heat up prepackaged food. Not blaming Jenny Craig, but rather myself. The agony I felt when the numbers would go up on the scale was horrible, I’d fast, I’d work out, I was obsessed. A friend introduced me to some wack job doctor who prescribed Phendemetrizine. All you had to do was go in, pee in a cup, get weighed, and he’d give you a prescription. I’m sure he dumped the pee out once I left, I mean, what more can you expect from a doctor who sat at the front desk of his 1 man operation, puffing cigarettes all day? I didn’t care, Phendemetrizine was amazing. It was prescribed speed! I could pop a couple pills and not be hungry for 8 hours AND have a ton of energy? HELL YES!!! This was my favorite candy! I became a self diagnosed anorexic and bulimic. At my lowest, I was 115lbs. I wouldn’t eat for days at a time, sometimes to the point that I had a hard time once I decided to eat because my throat was closing up. Other days, I’d binge eat only to follow it up with a week of fasting. I didn’t care, though. I was a size 2. It also did not help that my boyfriend at the time constantly nagged me for being overweight. Yup. 115lbs and he thought I was overweight.
I eventually kicked my speed habit. The doctor retired or died, not sure which. Candy supply was gone so maybe kicking the habit wasn’t entirely my choice. I began dating a man who thought I was beautiful, but encouraged me not to be so “white girl” skinny – sorry, white friends. He’d get annoyed whenever he heard me complaining of my imaginary fatness. He ate. I ate. He ate. I ate. Eventually, I gained 10lbs. As I gained some curves, he’d facetiously tell me that my ass was the best thing I had going for myself . Relax, he was joking (he’d also say he liked the freckles on my face because they looked like cinnamon)…but that made me think differently about my “ass” (J.Lo had a hand in that, too). For years, I had been ashamed of my thick thighs and butt. I wished my butt didn’t make my skirts stand up in the back, I wished my big thighs didn’t look like drumsticks when I wore shorts. But, the man I thought was amazing thought I looked amazing. We broke up a few hundred times and food was always my favorite way to comfort myself. I got fat again. The mirror didn’t lie, neither did the scale. 162 stared at me in the face and gave me the middle finger. Fuckkkkkkkkk.
Single and fat, I needed to get this problem under control. And I did. I lost 17lbs and I’ve kept it off for 5 years. I make healthy choices. I have seasons when I work out, but for the most part, I mostly watch what I eat. I didn’t do this for anyone other than myself. I didn’t do it to get my parents off my back, or to appeal to some guy. I did it because I wanted to feel good again. What good was it that I had dope designer bags and shoes if I felt like shit? Losing the weight for the right reasons made me feel powerful, strong, accomplished. My last conversation with my late friend tied everything together.
So at the risk of sounding preachy and obnoxious, I tell you this: love yourself. Loving yourself, your body, will get you further than hating it. Be kind to yourself. The number on the scale does not define you. Don’t wait until you lose weight to buy those designer jeans or sexy dress – do it now. Get rid of those smaller outfits from the past, you are not that person anymore. Make room for new, fabulous garments and go out and make amazing memories in them. Do not compare yourself to the next chick. Sure, she might be skinnier, prettier, richer, smarter, but you have NO idea what her journey is about or what her future holds. Like Della, our main objective should be to be healthy. We are the greatest asset we’ll ever own. We’re also the only asset we’ll always own. If losing weight will make you healthier, then do that. But don’t stop yourself from living because you’re simply not happy with the number on the scale. Remind yourself of the beautiful qualities you posses, I’m certain they have nothing to do with your aesthetics.
Today, I’m the happiest I’ve been with my body and myself. I’m confident because I realize that I’m one of a kind – just like YOU. Yes, my mom still calls me fat. But, I’ve learned to tune her out. Yes, I have moments when I call my friends and say silly things like, “OMG, untag me in that pic! I look gross, my face looks enormous!” or, I’m sure this is their favorite: “I’m so fat, I’m not eating until Wednesday, sorry, I can’t meet you for sushi.” That aside, I really, really do love my body. My ears are still big, feet still flat, and arms still big – BUT I’m healthy, alive, and loved. My thick, curvy, big eared, flat footed self is fabulous and nobody can tell me otherwise.
Della, this is dedicated to you. You are the most courageous woman I know. Thank you.
P.S. If you affectionately call your kids: “fatty” or “gordito/a” or anything like that…stop that shit NOW.
Single in the Burbs 