I am blurry on the details. Both my parents were home, which makes me think it may have been a weekend. (My dad traveled most weekdays.) Also it was summer. I know this because I was in my underwear and a t-shirt. We were not a walk-around-in-your-underwear kind of family (not like my kids who regularly streak down the hall in little else) and I remember feeling quite daring for wearing a t-shirt and underwear to bed like my friend said she did. So I know I was already feeling a little over-exposed. And it must have been evening since I was (un)dressed for bed but I’m not sure how old I was. I want to say ten, maybe. Maybe eleven. It was before the divorce (because my dad was there) so let’s say ten.
I can’t remember — did my parents call me downstairs? Or did I come down to tell them something on my own? I also don’t remember exactly what they said but I do remember their worried, compassionate wrinkled brows and their assurances that they loved me. And I remember something vague about my dad having been a fat kid and how he didn’t want me to suffer the way he’d suffered. (But this adds to my confusion — maybe my father wasn’t there. Maybe he left it to my mom to tell me and I remember him being there because I remember my mom saying this. Or maybe she said this after this initial confrontation. It’s all a blur.)
I know they told me I was putting on a little too much weight, that maybe I needed to watch it a little because I was getting, well, I was getting chubby.
This is what stays with me: The cold, cold shame freezing my stomach and making my vision turn wide then small. My awareness of my physical vulnerability in my t-shirt and underwear. My want to disappear, pull a blanket over me. And my shock because no one — NO ONE — ever told me I was fat. No one had ever said these words to me. So the irony is that my parents wanted to protect me from the cruelty of other children but the only people who had ever told me I was fat were my parents who were telling me now. And this is also what stays with me: that spinning, empty feeling around my limbs as I realized that I did not know myself or my body. That my legs and arms and tummy were no longer close and familiar but were enemies bent on fooling me. Where I had felt strong and pretty, I now knew I had been mistaken and then I realized I had been a fool walking around in the world feeling good about myself because it was a secret from me, the way that other people saw me. And that was the shame that has, frankly, never left me. And this is a shame that I still feel around my family more than I feel it around anyone else because they were the ones to tell me.
It sounds like I’m damning my parents and I’m not. My parents really were trying to be helpful. I believe their intentions were good and loving because the bulk of my experiences otherwise at that time in my childhood were good and loving and supportive and encouraging. So I forgive them for doing their best even though it ended up causing me harm. My father was a fat kid and he carried those scars. On the other hand, my mom was always a skinny, skinny kid and likely didn’t know what to make of her sturdy, stocky daughter. Perhaps I was getting too chubby although pictures I have of that time show only me at my most Dawnest self — neither big nor small. Plain, sturdy, short of limb and stern of face.
I do wonder though what they thought I would do as a ten or eleven year old. We already ate well because my mom controlled the food in our cupboards and on our dining room table. We had lots of fruits and veggies; we had few sweets or processed food. I was one of the few kids who never had Hostess cupcakes in my lunch and when we drank kool-aid, she made it with a fraction of the sugar. I rode my bike a lot, too, although truth be told, I was more of a bookworm. My body at that age (I say, gazing at the pictures) was simply a sturdy, stocky body and this I already knew. My best friend was younger and a full head taller with long, long legs and her tummy never curved out in her bathing suit. But that was how she looked and this was how I looked and it didn’t occur to me that one was better than the other until I heard it. Until my parents told me directly and until I overhead adults talking about Annie’s body and how they envied her her legs, shaking their heads in rueful admiration.
What happened after this momentous day is that I quit walking like I was the person inhabiting my limbs. I felt self-conscious as I moved through space. I doubted the me I saw in the mirror and no longer trusted my ability to know what I looked like. I began to look at other people with suspicion and self-consciousness. In short, I became less likely to want to run or ride or dance or be active anyplace people might see. Which is obviously what my parents were trying to avoid. And this has never left me. Nor has the feeling of powerlessness over my body, this sense that it will do what it wants and I am disconnected — body separate from soul. This is a disconnect that feels like I am a poorly dubbed movie with a body that will not co-operate with my thoughts.
I think about this so much lately because I am now a mother to a sturdy, stocky daughter and I feel like high-kicking the world under its collective chin when I think of anyone — ANYONE — visiting any of this on her. I know she is beautiful like I knew I was beautiful. Because looking back, I can see that my parents were wrong. They were wrong to tell me and they were wrong in their assumptions in the first place because I wasn’t fat. I was lovely. And strong and sturdy and exactly how I was meant to be. I know this because my mom fed me well and I rode my bike and ran around the neighborhood and so the body I carried was the perfect body for me. But I can’t get back to that place and so I’m deathly afraid that someone with the best intentions will steal Madison’s sense of self.
So I will tell you now: My daughter is perfect. And so is my son. They are exactly who they are meant to be. They own the ground they walk over. They own the air they move through. They are grace even when they stumble. They are strong and free and masters of their beings. Their bodies will change — filling and stretching — and the change will be perfect even during those awkward times when their knees don’t seem to work right and their elbows knock into things. I feed them well, they run around — they are nourished and active and so I won’t let anyone else’s worries come to visit them.
When we talk about health, we don’t talk about weight. When we say “diet” we mean “food you put in your body.” We mean vitamins and minerals and diversity in your menu. We get off the elliptical trainer or back home from a walk or a run and say, “Wow, that really helped my stress levels! That made me feel strong! I’m going to sleep well tonight!” Because that’s the equation that will build the bodies they are meant to have and those bodies may be slim or round. They may be heavier or lighter or taller or shorter but they will be perfect and my children will never ever ever (god willing) have to lose ownership the way I did when I was ten.
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Dawn – As a woman who was also labeled chubby, big, and other things at the age you reference, this touched me deeply. My siblings knew the way to make me crumble was to call me fat. When my lovely lady lumps appeared on my chest earlier than my older sisters, I was called names for my big breasts and told how they would be at my ankles by the time I was 20. The painful stories are endless.
As a mother to an 11 year old “big” boy, your post gave me pause. Lately his dad and I have been having conversations (not in front of him) about our concerns with his weight, his “moobs”, his belly. I have fretted over calling the pediatrician, I have restocked the house with healthier food and I worry endlessly that he is not an athletic kid but “just a” good, loving wonderful kid that all who meet adore.
I realize my struggles with his chubby boy body (mind you he was 12 pounds at birth and his father is 6’3 and 270 lbs) is rooted in my childhood AND societies view of those that don’t fit the norm (fat kid = irresponsible parent). Do I care what he looks like? NO. But I do worry that others will taunt him, that others will judge me (again, fat kid = bad parenting and having lost my first child to adoption I am rather sensitive to the bad/unfit parent label) and so I go round and round.
Thank you for this post. Will share with others.
My moment was in the summer, on the shore of a lake, overhearing my mom talking with a friend. I was nine and it’s never left me.
Standing, clapping, and crying. Awesome post. The 2nd to last paragraph gave me goosebumps.
I am blown away…really very powerful stuff. Thank you.
They are perfect, and if they are active and eating well they are in their perfect bodies.
I never had to go through this, but I know others who have. One dear person ended up battling an eating disorder for years because of her mother’s criticism that she was “chubby”.
DS is sturdy and stocky, but this is often seen as “strong” and “strapping” in boys. The double standard exists even for children. How sad.
Wonderful!!!!!
I can’t remember a time when my mom DIDN’T refer to me as ‘the big girl’ or the chubby one, etc.
I have a sister who is and always was tiny and perfect(and only 15 months my junior), I always felt huge compared to her.
I don’t remember being crushed in spirit because if it though.
Only in grade seven, where I had to change into a ‘gym strip’ for the first time did I feel shame about my body because the other girls made fun of me.
What a great post. My moment came much later… my “chunkiness” was never an issue for me until I developed infertility, but I do know exactly the distance and shame you’re speaking of.
And I love,love,love,love the description of your children’s perfection. Kudos!
Dawn this is a beatiful and extremely well articulated post. Your children are very privileged your are their mother. If you want more information about exactly these issues visit ellynsatter.com.Ellyn is a pioneer in nutrition and children.
This is a fantastic essay. What a reminder that what we say and how we say it has such an impact on our children.
Thanks for sharing this, Dawn. It’s beautifully written.
I was 10, in 5th grade when my parents decided that I was too fat. Coming from a culture/country where overweight was considered a sign of gross self indulgence, their solution was simple. My parents decided to limit my food and my mother cut everything out that she did not think was essential at established times. I was allowed water the rest of the time. If I was hungry, too bad; only fat girls ‘cheated’. I lost weight and they were proud which made me happy and relieved then but I forever worried that my body was not good enough after that.
*HUG*
I think we all lose ownership of our bodies at some point. My experience was in 7th grade, and it was when my mother was called in to sit down with the health teacher and me and discuss my weight.
Apparently the whole school thought I was anorexic. I was a tall skinny child in a town of average. And I was a vegetarian like my mom. Both of us had fast metabolisms.
I remember feeling the same way you did. Suddenly your body is not your own.
Sometimes things should be said about a child’s diet if the diet is horribly unhealthy. Sometimes things should be said about the child not being active enough. But nothing should ever be said about “too fat” or “too thin”.
I didn’t get my feeling of ownership back until I was 26 and pregnant with my son.
That was brave and eloquent and inspiring Dawn.
I was visiting my dad on the East coast when I was 12 or 13 and he took me to a doctor for a general check-up. My father was very determined that this guy give me a talking-to in his big oak office to tell me that if I lost 10 pounds, my whole adulthood would be easier. (I would have been about 5’5″ and 110-115 lbs at this point). This doctor and my father might have said I should exercise more or eat healthier food, but all I really remember is being an apple-cheeked adolescent who was told she should lose weight. This would have been the parenting direction given by my stepmother, 16 years his junior, who might have maxed her weight at a size 6 after my half sister was born.
They looked at my blog once that I know of. In all of my posts about parenting and my son and whatever else, the only tag they looked at in my archives was “weight loss.”
Ok, I was 5’5″ and had gained a whole 10 pounds between my junior and senior year in high school, which meant I weighed 128 lbs. My junior year, when I weighed 118, my collarbones jutted out. You could see my ribs. It’s freaking sick.
That is sick. The 1980s, man… What on earth were they thinking? Not that things are fabulous now, but it is at least easier to locate body-positive feminist ideas. And we can sing along with Candye Kane and learn to play piano with our boobs! Yay!
Love you, love this. I’ll never forget my grandma telling me, “You’d be so pretty if you only lost some weight.” That and being put on weight watchers when I was a senior in high school. Remind me to show you my senior pictures some day and you’ll realize how sick it was.
I remember being 14 or so and having a dr check-up. My mother asked me, when we were both sitting in the room after the weigh-in/measurement stuff, before the dr came in, what my weight had been. I was about 5′ 5″ and I think I said 132 lbs. I will never forget her face when she told me, “Oh, that’s too much.”
I played basketball, I ran track. I ate well, too. My body was so healthy and strong. But I didn’t have that perspective then, not at that vulnerable, hormone-crazy age. I remember that I was very uncomfortable when I developed breasts before the majority of my classmates. I remember being somewhat embarrassed, I remember hunching over in my desk at school even, but that didn’t compare to what my mother did to my self image right then.
She had me follow weight watchers with her for awhile. She does it all (still does) in a non-pushy, but totally passive aggressive way, and I know I lost a little weight between 15-16 but now just the thought of it enrages me.
I am a heavy girl now and there is no way I will ever be the size I was then, and although I want to be healthier and I’m working out again, I don’t care that I’m not going to be that. My mother still talks about weight watchers to me and she bought me the online thing which I don’t use really, but you know what? I feel more sorry for her than anything else at this point. It’s like food and its “points” rule her life. I can’t contemplate spending so much of my time thinking about that! It’s a dreadful thing!
Your wonderful post reminded me that I need to pay attention to what she says around my daughter. As you say, she wouldn’t have bad intentions, but I’m with you on the healthy talk being about how strong our bodies are, not about weight.
Dawn, this was a fantastic post. Thank you for writing it.
From the minute I was born, I was labeled fat. I was 8 pounds, 2 ounce — bigger than other babies. I GAINED weight after coming home from the hospital. My mom called me Janny Bird because I would open my mouth for food like a bird all day long. My brother and sister used to chase me around the house singing a “fat” song they made up. My parents bought me an extra-firm mattress and made no small amount of fuss about how I needed the extra support vs. my older sister who got the “regular” mattress. My brother promised to give me $5 if I got down to 80 pounds when I was still a girl. My first boyfriend said he’d never seen a girl eat as much as me. But the funny thing is that I have pictures of me from infant to near-adult, proving that I was not fat. I was not chubby. I was not stocky. I was just right for my body. My sister was very thin, which was just right for her body. But it was I who was labeled fat. Today I am 300 pounds. Self-fulfilling prophecy? Perhaps. I love that you say, believe and confirm that you daughter is who she is … perfect.
This made me cry. I hope every parent who reads it will realize the enormous impact of the language we use with our children. I have three daughters, all of whom have very different body types, each one perfect.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
I think this post is rather timely as National Eating Disorders Awareness Week kicks off on the 22nd. That last paragraph was beautiful.
Thanks! This is great!
Wow, Dawn, I could have written that post. (Except, you write so eloquently.) For me, it was my grandmother and then my dad. In my case, I did have a horrible diet–the whole rest of my family is morbidly obese to this day. I spent a good number of years with anorexia after my self-image plummeted. It was not pretty. This week I was thinking that one of the things DH and I are getting right with our girls is they have positive body image. Thanks for reminding me just how important that is.
I have been happily married for 15 years to a lovely woman whose body was built to carry the prized nanny goat up a Cretan slope. She is 5 feet tall and outweighs me–I’m a medium size human at 5′ 7″. She can press her weight on a flat bench.
She decided to stop caring about her weight in our second year together, threw out the scale and only attends to whether her clothes fit. If they’re tight, she works out more and eats every protein she can find. For a week.
This is a small miracle.
Because her mother was damaged by our culture and harassed my wife and SIL throughout childhood about their weight, neither will leave their daughters alone with her.
Think about that. My MIL can’t have overnights with her granddaughters because her obsession with who is thin enough can’t be stopped or even confronted effectively.
That is almost as sad as the incidents described in this post and the comments, and makes me despair of getting my lanky, muscular, leggy kid through adolescence undamaged.
Wow Dawn, this post is amazing.
I didn’t even worry about my weight until my first marriage, although I was a healthy (and fine with it) size 12 (comments by the ex) and have been fighting with self acceptance ever since.
I have NEVER said a negative thing about my weight in front of my kids (in fact I don’t say many weight self hatred things) and I confront those women who do.
My SIL is thin – size 8 – and we can’t be around her for a half an hour without her saying negative things about how big and fat she is. I had to pull her aside and tell her to shut up. And then I had to and have to remind her many times since to watch what she says. That her words sting – not only does it set a horrible self hatred example – but with me, much heavier than a size 8, what does it tell Gage and Quinn about my size? That I shouldn’t accept my size or love myself.
This was a brave post. And I’m right there with you. Quinn’s kidney belly protrudes a bit and I worry about the surgery scars she will have from her transplant, and the only way I know to help her accept that is to be an example by accepting myself. That is one of the best gifts I can give her.
I think most of us are destined to have some form of body-image issue — I mean, how many women do you know haven’t struggled with this? That yours was inflicted on you by well-meaning parents — how excruciatingly painful that must have been. I’m so sorry that happened to you.
My body-image issue was the opposite — I’m a pretty narrow person, always have been. As a teenager, I acutely felt my (perceived) lack of curves, and was a late developer in puberty. Hell, to get cleavage even now I’d need duct tape. But I really, really like my body now, and am happy to say that at 40 I feel sexier and prettier than I ever did in my 20s.
This has to be one of my top 3 favorite blogs of yours. Amazing. Simply amazing. I’m not sure when I shifted from sturdy to fat–it was probably around the same age, and the irony is that I wasn’t *really* fat–I became mentally fat, and then my physical body reflected that. And still reflects that. Thank you for an awesome blog.
Great post, Dawn.
[...] Dawn-related, this post over at her blog: The Night My World Caved in Read it and cry. And also this post over at Mama(e) in Translation: Skinny is NOT Beautiful [...]
I think a lot of women can relate to this. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment, but I distinctly remember my dad, stepmother, grandmother, brother, telling me I needed to lose weight. My mother didn’t, because she struggled for a bit too (which is ridiculous because she’s tiny).
It wasn’t always the weight thing either, there was a lot of commenting about how I should learn how to do my hair, wear makeup, etc. Mostly from my dad.
Oh, Dawn. I can so relate to that feeling of no longer knowing how to inhabit the body you were born with.
As someone else who learned early and often that I was “too heavy”, who struggled with alternating bouts of starvation and purging, who still, STILL has to force myself to look in the mirror…I applaud this. And you, for breaking the cycle of self-hatred for your children.
I was “plump,” and did have teasing at school and lots of comments from my family — lots. Even in adulthood. I think after they found out I had an eating disorder for years, that slowed down the comments somewhat. *sigh*
Words do hurt. I’m sorry for what you endured, and I admire how you’re approaching the same issue with your kids.
my mom did this to me during the one time in my life that i had ANY extras pounds on me, and i too never forgot it. like your parents, she thought she was helping, but it certainly did the reverse. the world gives our kids enough negative messages about themselves; its our job (and pride as parents!) to mirror back to them how beautiful they are always.
beautiful post.
I’m new here, but what a lovely post. This is a topic near and dear to my heart and I appreciate the chance to hear about your experience.
Sing it Sister!
So the irony is that my parents wanted to protect me from the cruelty of other children but the only people who had ever told me I was fat were my parents who were telling me now.
My father, also a former fat kid, felt it was important to call me “Beached Whale” to prepare me for what others would say. Like you, no one else said anything. I was 10 and probably a whole 8 pounds overweight.
When Desta joined us and ate non-stop in reaction to former starvation, we never discussed diet or weight (she wouldn’t have understood anyway). We just got a magnetic thingy for the fridge and now she moves her magnets for grain, fruit, etc. That’s it.
I’m not quite where you are in terms of forgiving the father…but I will be…
When Desta joined us and st
Thank you for this post, Dawn. You are my role model in parenting, I read every post of yours faithfully. I hope that if I have children one day, I will be a mother as good as you are.
I don’t remember when I have first been told that I was too heavy, I have felt fat as long as I can remember. Though there is one incident which stands out: When I was maybe 10 years old I found an application form for a dieting program which my mother was about to send off (without talking with me first). I tore it into pieces and thought “My mom doesn’t like me the way I am”. It still hurts me to think about it, although I know she had good intentions.
Dawn, thank you for writing this. My parents told me I was fat when I was 9 and their solution was for my mom and I to go to a dietitian together. What a great mother-daughter bonding activity! The shame I felt from my parents, and my brothers who teased me relentlessly, is something that has never left me.
As a mama of a daughter, I share your hope that our kids never lose their sense of owning their body. And I hope that I find my way back there, because I haven’t yet.
Fantastic post Dawn.
I don’t remember the feelings of before and after with such clarity, but I do remember my moment – a neighbour, who had happened to move away when I was on the cusp of puberty, came visiting a year later and commented that I’d ‘got chubby’. I never felt the same way about my body again.
Thank you Dawn. That was a wonderful post.
My parents did a pretty good job with my weight. I went back and forth with being a little plump to normal as a kid.
When I was in 6th grade (and having other social problems), my “friends” told me that I should lose a little weight. And the best way to do that was to give them any cookies that I brought in my lunch…
Right now, my daughter is very athletic (I don’t know where that comes from). She eats like crazy, but (at age 10) trains 8-10 hours a week for her sport of choice. If she gives it up (and that is completely her choice) I’ll encourage her to stay active, but I suspect she’ll put on weight. And I dread how I’m going to handle it. Can I get past my issues and support her as the strong girl she is and hopefully always will be?
great post. amazing, and sad,that so many can relate to it!
interesting that you can pinpoint a specific moment. it is definitely less specific for me, if similar.
i also appreciate that you explore how to deal with our daughters. i’m struggling with that.
my 11 year old (who is not overweight, but has a lot of very narrow, thin, girls in her class) came home the other day upset that some kids called her fat. she said ‘i know i’m not, and that i’m fine and healthy, but they just always find something to tease about’
so i’m glad it was put in the context of other teasing/bullying that has been going on with those specific kids, but am still concerned about that loss of ownership. i think gymnastics class, and a good sense of healthy nutrition helps. but i wonder if it is inevitable.
yes yes yes- i am here withyou. I have been thinking a lot on this- i wrote about trying to be an example for my boys recently bc itis so important to not have these memories as an adult I think. I have them and they are simple to pull from my mind. too easy to recall.
What’s sad is how complicit the medical world has now become in perpetuating this tragedy. (I’m a retired physician.) Guidelines label healthy, stocky kids as overweight, and even obese when for many a BMI of 85% or even 95% or more is the normal, healthy growth for that child. Kids are having BMI measured in schools, with notes sent home that are misdiagnosing and labeling kids, with dire consequences. (I imagine thousands of discussions like your happening daily.) The obsession with thinness and the misinformation that anything other than slim is unhealthy is fueling both the epidemics of unhealthy weight gain and disordered eating at the same time. It fills me with sadness and rage that the war on kids’ bodies and psyches will likely get worse before it gets better. Powerful story.
Thought of your post when I read this today.
<a href=”http://jezebel.com/5159396/can-an-eating-disorder-be-blamed-on-a-parent”)Can An Eating Disorder Be Blamed on a Parent?
My experience is that peers don’t mean as much as parents until the teen years but during my teen years, both my parents were fairly checked out so I don’t know how they would have been different if they had been able to be more involved. I don’t know. What do you think, Suz?
Whoops, forgive my crapping tagging. Feel free to fix.
Dawn – Agreed with you. That was my experience as well. By the time I hit my teens, my body image and self esteem had already been destroyed by my parents and siblings.
Hey all. Abby’s Cousin-in-law here. I am now dangerously overweight and working on being healthier. But, I was ‘large’ through Jr. High and High School. Parents not so much of a downer, but peers for me. I recently looked at a pic of the Golf Team and I realized… I wasn’t the ‘Fat pig’ I thought. I was larger than most everyone else, but not overly so. I had the gut, but…
Well, I bought in all the way. Now, maybe men don’t face it as much (sheer volume of pics, film, commercial) but it is much more hidden still. In fact, while women like Dawn, Abby, etc are working to break the cycle, it is actually ramping up for men.
‘Man-scaping’ is becoming more and more. Have to fit a profile, better shave that chest, maybe some calf or butt implants (really, I have seen it). Some say Good! About time Men had the same crap to cope with as Women. Really? Is that the answer? I don’t think anyone responding here thinks that way, but it is out there.
Anyway, great story.. oh, my wife faced the ‘you have such a pretty face, if only you would lose weight’ from much of her family..
When I read posts like yours, I don’t want to excuse parents for their mistakes but I think back to my own parents and realize that they didn’t have the same tools we have. They didn’t have the same knowledge or awareness. They really did mean well – even when they ended up doing harm.
What scares me more is the parents of today who treat their daughters’ so poorly, who talk about fat and diet and weight loss in ways that we all know is harmful. There’s no excuse for that type of parenting today. I just wish your parents had had more tools and knowledge at their disposal for you, I’m sure they’d have done it all differently.
Thank you for this post. My “moment” was when I went with my mom to a party at her work and I overheard her telling a coworker how much I weighed in a sad/disappointed tone. Thats when I realized that she was ashamed that I wasn’t skinny like her.
For years I have been worried that I will end up treating my children the same way, meaning well but hurting them. I am glad to hear that you have chosen the other route and that it is possible.
Wow. I’ve been thinking about this same issue lately. I know there was a time in my life when I didn’t care what my body looked like. When I didn’t compare myself to every other female body around me. I know there must have been a time but I can not remember it. As far back as I can remember (as young as 8 years old) I have been criticizing my own body.
I wish I could get back to that time when I was comfortable in my body. The problem is, I don’t remember what that feels like and I’m afraid I’ll never get there.
Tori, I’m hoping if I fake it, it’ll eventually kick in. I was just talking to Noah about this because he read the entry from yesterday (about Madison calling me fat — the one about being explicit) and I told him that it’s still hard for me but I don’t want it to be hard for Madison so I have to remind myself that basically the world has been telling me lies and I don’t have to believe them. I was talking to him about it in part because I want him to be an advocate for Madison and other females he loves and will love and in part because I want him to know that he can do this, too, when the world comes calling and telling him something essential about himself is wrong.
HANG IN THERE!
[...] personal blog that deals with writing, adoption, and women’s issues. Her writing about body image is tough and real and I cave right in and fall into her words and understand. I read her daily and I [...]
This is such a brilliant post. As someone who wasted many years hating her perfectly beautiful heavier than others body before becoming really actually very fat, I really wish I could wave a magic wand and stop every girl from doubting their beauty & awesomeness for a second. As it is now I feel bad for feeling good about myself because clearly as a fat person I’m lazy, worthless and should feel horrible about myself. But I don’t. I’d like to be 50kg lighter, my body has many flaws like dodgey ovaries and problems with my toes, but I like who I am and I’m not ashamed of how I look. I do worry though about how my weight could affect a child and how I could raise a little girl to see herself as beautiful despite what the outside world says.