About a year ago, I managed to shed around 30 pounds for the umpteenth time. During that period, my father visited and made a thoughtless comment that left me shocked and somewhat hurt.
Let me clarify: my dad is a wonderful man, and I love him dearly. He means well, which is why his words caught me off guard. Here’s how the conversation unfolded:
Dad: “You look great! Have you lost weight?”
Me: “Yeah, I’ve been working on that. I’ve lost about 30 pounds.”
Dad: “That’s fantastic! You’re not really a heavy person inside. You’re lean inside. My child isn’t heavy.”
Me: silence.
A. His comment was as perplexing as it was hurtful. B. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, as he often makes remarks in that vein. C. Surprisingly, I kind of agree with him.
As a child, I was always slender, regardless of my eating habits (from nothing to devouring a cheesecake). By the time my second child arrived, I had gained about 15 pounds. I remember my boss telling me I was beautiful, but that I’d be stunning if I lost 10 pounds.
Years later, I somehow packed on another 20 pounds. I went on a diet and dropped 50 pounds. I started nursing school and then began working night shifts. One day, I stepped on the scale and nearly had a heart attack when I discovered my body fat was mostly Oreos. I gained 55 pounds, dieted again (sound familiar, like Groundhog Day?), and started marathon training, losing 65 pounds. Then came a divorce, followed by a remarriage and a request from my husband to gain 20 pounds because, apparently, bones aren’t sexy. After getting pregnant for the fourth time, I quit marathon training and gained 60 pounds.
Now, I feel like Oprah. I’ve cycled through my entire wardrobe four times. I lost 15 pounds, got pregnant again (fifth time’s the charm), gained 30 pounds, lost 20, and then gained 10 after getting an IUD.
Confused yet?
I’ve hit 200 pounds. I dieted and lost 35. My therapist remarked, “You have exercise bulimia,” which is a real thing. My husband often tells me that my obsessive calorie counting and workout regimen drive him crazy. Six months later, I gained every single pound back.
Now that we’re caught up, let’s address the emotional turmoil of gaining and losing weight equivalent to six small children or two grown men—it’s tough.
I’m hesitant to share all this because I know society’s perception of heavier individuals. I use the term “heavy” in a purely descriptive sense—I am, in fact, a person with a heavier frame. People often think of heavier individuals as lazy, undisciplined, or gluttonous. While I know this isn’t true, it’s still a prevalent belief. I don’t want to be seen as that person. I pride myself on being one of the most industrious individuals you’ll meet. I can’t sit through a movie without fidgeting, and I can’t relax if there’s laundry piled up.
Despite weighing 200 pounds, I struggle to accept the label of “heavy.” I don’t FEEL heavy. I understand I look heavy; I wear a size 16, and indulging in Chinese food can push me to an 18 (hello, salt). Few women want to embrace the term “heavy” or be forced to shop in the “plus-size” section. My sweet husband avoids using the word “heavy” altogether, opting for terms like curvy or voluptuous. He knows the stigma attached.
Internally, I do not identify as heavy. I see myself as a wife, mother, sister, nurse, friend, writer, and knitting enthusiast. I’m also a bit depressed and a lot manic. I’m the adult daughter of an addict. I encompass so much more than just my weight.
Yet, there’s a cloud hovering above me, ready to unleash its harsh reality: I’m not the lean person I feel I am inside. Regardless of my self-perception, the truth remains—I’m heavy. And yes, it saddens me.
I feel a pang of sadness thinking about my husband possibly finding “someone else to be with,” someone thinner or prettier. Do people think, “Oh, he’s a nice guy for staying with a heavy girl”? Or maybe I’m an incredible person and wife despite my weight, and he just isn’t shallow.
It also saddens me that I occasionally look in the mirror and question my beauty. Who defines beauty? My wide hips, rounded backside, and the shape of my belly—all these aspects make up my body. Is beauty merely a product of marketing?
In gatherings of women, I often find myself scanning the room to see if I’m the heaviest one there. Why do women often judge each other based on body size alone?
Truth be told, I would prefer to be smaller. I’ve experienced everything from being underweight to obese, and I lean toward the middle. However, I acknowledge that 95% of dieters eventually gain back the weight they lost (check out more evidence in Health at Every Size by Linda Bacon, PhD). Given my history, it’s clear that statistic applies to me. I still weigh 200 pounds—still.
I haven’t raised the white flag in surrender. I haven’t accepted my weight as an unchangeable fate. I’ve simply decided to stop focusing on weight loss as a constant goal. I’m not counting calories or exercising merely to justify a treat. I’m not striving to get “in shape”—because I’m already a shape, and it’s round. I’m not trying to shed “extra pounds,” because they aren’t “extra”; they’re all mine.
The reality is that I’m not working towards anything except my health and happiness.
I wish I could proclaim my unwavering self-love for my body, so others would know I’m unbothered by my weight. But I can’t quite say that.
I find my body to be remarkable. It has brought forth many wonderful, kind individuals. I can walk, run, and bike. I’m healthy (despite my size, so don’t even ask). I’m intelligent, compassionate, and kind—attributes unrelated to my physical form. I am grateful for all of this. Yet, when I look at my body (and I do, a lot—it’s a mix of immersion and cognitive behavioral therapy), I still see a heavier person.
I wish I didn’t. I wish others wouldn’t either. But it’s undeniable, and so is the societal perception.
I want to shift our conversations to focus on all the things we are beyond our bodies. I am so much more than just heavy or thin. We all are.
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Summary:
This article explores the complex relationship between self-identity and body image, detailing the author’s experiences with weight loss and gain throughout her life. Despite feeling like a lean person inside, she grapples with societal perceptions of being heavy, emphasizing the emotional toll and societal stigma associated with body size. The author advocates for a broader conversation about identity beyond physical appearance and the importance of self-acceptance.