This “Fat” Body

For nearly 6 years, I was a slave to perfection, unattainable standards, and an insatiable obsession to be skinny, and to feel weightless. The bar felt like it was always raised so high, and I could never quite reach it. You see…

When I turned 17, everything changed. It’s like I went through a time capsule in a handful of months. No; I’m serious. I got my period. Curves. Curly hair. Boobs (sort of). Acne. And the digits on the scale went from double to triple. All the goods! It was around this time that I signed with my first ever talent agency – my 17 year old dream – to be represented for print/film. So mind you, during the same time that my entire biology just POOF! changed, so I also entered the world of perfect people with perfect bodies, perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect everything, to compare myself to. For the most part, I had always been okay with myself and my body. And then, I created an Instagram account. And I saw 5’10”, 22″ waisted, freaking real life Barbies graced with tummies flatter than Kansas and lives sexier than my new friend, puberty. 

Suddenly, I wasn’t okay anymore.

I didn’t even realize how sabotaging my eating habits (or lack thereof) and warped body perception had become, until I found myself awkwardly coming clean to a nurse. I was that girl who kept her safety net of rice cakes and peanut butter nearby, water fasted anytime she ate an item off “the list”, pinched her sides when she’d glance in the mirror, and examined photos thoroughly, to ensure that no trace of “fat” was seen. Gatherings that revolved around food were torture, my excessive volume of cardio never made my curvaceous 5’4″ stature look like the 5’10” runway model’s, and no matter how much I did, all I saw was this “fat” body.

All of this has changed drastically. It’s been a lot of uncomfortable changes, demon slaying, and fighting for my health, but I can confidently say that I truly feel like an entirely different person than I did for 6 years of my life. However, that doesn’t mean that some shadows still don’t haunt every now and then. I’m better at catching it and moving forward, but check this out:

This was taken right after a long run, ft. the neighbor’s cat that coils around my ankles and bites my shoe laces during strides (Yes; I’ve tripped on him on numerous occasions).

I loved the top photo. And I loved the bottom one…

…Until I saw this.

Suddenly 23 year old me was 17 year old me. How did that get there? Is that really what I look like? Is that what other people see when they look at me? Is that a crease in my tank top, or is that actually my stomach? I’ll post the first picture….but not this one. People will see this and notice. It looks like fat. It is fat. Am I fat?

5 minutes prior, I was celebrating the best long run I’ve had all year. I eased up and down the hills, didn’t tire out, finished faster than I started, and in essence, felt one word: Strong. And in 5 minutes’ time, the skin on my stomach folding from leaning forward and hugging a flipping cat, suddenly dictated that perception. Those old voices crept back in.

I share this, because I am genuinely pained by the number of men and women who have asked these same questions; who live life in enslavement to an overlay of flesh. Men must be Superman, women must be Barbie. Both must be spotless, unblemished, unstained. There’s this crazy phenomenon that happens when a client is on my table. They feel more vulnerable, and preface the session by apologizing for scars, body fat, and cellulite, as if I am somehow repulsed by touching a human as a human. I realize that we mimic this same behavior off the table too.

We live life apologizing for not being good enough, for not being perfect enough, for being way too human. We apologize by way of untagging “that photo” of ourselves. We apologize by verbalizing to someone how “terrible” we are for eating the doughnut, since it’s not on the “list”. We apologize by pinching our sides in the mirror over and over and over…and then covering in layers and layers and layers, lest we be exposed. We apologize by our cynical and sarcastic body jokes about ourselves, lest someone else say it first. We apologize by lifting weights at 2AM, sleeplessly trudging through a run, miserably rejecting our body’s cry for nourishment and eating 200 calorie salad with crappy balsamic instead, coming home, pinching our sides, and doing it all over again. We apologize by voluntarily creating our own living hell. Our apology is just what the dictionary’s translation is: an expression of regret. If ONLY “This fat body” could be shed, then we would feel better, right?

I almost discarded that last photo; didn’t add it to my story. But in a less than 60 second, rationalizing self pep talk, the ridiculousness of that contradicted everything I have healed from, and the lens I wish to live through. I started to “apologize”…but then, I posted it.

The truth is this:

This “fat” body really isn’t about skin

“Fat” is the heaviness of emotional baggage. “Fat” is the insidious torture of suppressed pain. “Fat” is the overwhelming sensation of vulnerability and shame. “Fat” is the deceitful overlay of skin that makes the heaviness inside become something tangible on the outside. If we cannot rid ourselves of the weight of the nagging voices inside, then we can rid ourselves of the physical weight on the outside. “Fat” is often a fear mongering illusion.

Often times, we begin to shed “this fat body” with even the best of intentions: For health, longevity, confidence. But we fail to recognize the underlying baggage that actually mimics “fat” in the process. We fail to expose our insatiable hunger and drive for perfection or adoration or applause, and think that a change in tissue and skin pliability will be the quick fix and ultimate gateway to happiness. It reminds me that we must change our narrative from seeking perfection, to seeking wholeness.

For 6 years, I was enslaved to perfection. I can confidently say that perfection is no longer the lens I want to abide by. I don’t want to live life through the illusion that people only see me through my bodily composition. I don’t want to live life with the idea that my physical weight is this Holy grail. I don’t want to live life so obsessed with the vanity of my skin, that life itself becomes how I feel in my skin. Perfection negates the idea that we have more than skin and bones. Perfection demands more. Perfection constantly reminds you of this “fat” body.

PERFECTION: Unattainable standards by underlying feelings of shame, unfulfilled expectations, a nagging void’s craving for relentless recognition and affection. DO more; BE more. l must be spotless. I must be weightless. I must be unblemished…I must be perfect. And I am never enough.

WHOLENESS: Grace far surpasses works and breaks the chains of perfection’s enslavement. Pursuit of change and its progress creates room to grow and flourish. I can mess up and still forgive myself and move forward. I do not need to do more or be more in order to thrive. I am enough. I am imperfect. I am flawed. I am a work in progress. I will scrape my hands and knees, but I will keep fighting the good fight. I will pick myself right back up again. I have already been forgiven. 

Perfection says “This fat body”, wholeness says “This imperfect, flourishing, capable human body.” Let’s change the narrative.