Yeah I'm fat!!!!!!

Yeah, I'm fat. I'm fluffy. Zaftig, voluptuous, curvy, big boned, solid, thick, triple phat with extra cheese, heavy, plus sized, whatever trendy word has flowed down the pike to identify my less than normal size which is totally normal to me.

I'm fat.

I'm not slender. I don't look like Britney Spears but then Britney didn't start out looking like she does now. I don't have hours to dedicate to the gym or even a metabolisim to help me out.

If I know all of this...why do people feel it necessary to point this out?? Like I'm blind?? Like one day I'm going to suddenly look down and go wow I didn't know there was a whole world down there and damn, what is that big round thing hiding my toes???

And why is it usually pointed out by women who, by no small measure, are only slightly less fat than I, the offensive fat person? Do these people care why I am really fat or is it easier to assume that I, like the millions of other americans lumped togther on the six o'clock news simply can't push my big, rotund ass away from the supersized trough of fast food.

I am fat.

I am fat because of my own body. I am fat because of a disorder affecting millions of woman who don't realize that it is what they have and it is the reason they starve and gain weight, that they have to wear heavy makeup to hide facial hair, that they can't have children, that they have acne and the list goes on and on.

I want to say to these women, be glad that you don't have what I do. Be glad that your body has not turned on you and that this isn't what you see every morning when you look in the mirror. Get down on your knees and thank the lord above that you lead a somewhat normal life and don't have to live in shame.

But then I think, am I ashamed because I am fat or does she feel ashamed for me? I feel my body, every day. I feel it's size, I feel it's strength, I feel it's aches and pains and I am not ashamed of it's size. I know that my arms pass out loving hugs and work hard. I know that my legs provide my confident walk and allow me to dance down grocery store aisle with my son to the amusement of others. I know that my round belly is my child's favorite place to rest his head when he hugs me.

yes, I'm fat. I am gloriously, abundantly fat and I'm okay with that. I'm alive. Seven years ago I would have done anything to be thin including die, but that was then and this is ... life. I am not the sum of my parts or the weight that I carry. I am, for lack of a better word, me.

So yes, I am fat and thank you, dear stranger for pointing that out to the world, or rather just the people within ear shot. But I am not ashamed because of it, nor do I feel that I am not allowed to live in the light of day. I refuse to sit in my house and hide from the public's eyes because you are so body obsessed that you demand that I feel shame and unworthiness because my body does not fit your ideal.

I pity you, dear stranger, because your narrow mind only sees the size of a person's body and not the size of their heart or the impact that they can leave on someone's life.


((I'm not sure if this is really a rant but it seemed like a good spot to put it. I started out being angry at a person for feeling the need to tell me how fat I was but I've realized they have the problem and not I.))

This was written by Cristal Conners