I have been considered overweight since I was a teenager, and obese since my early twenties. I battled with my size for years. Tried just about every fad diet, took diet pills I got on eBay that made me shake and gave me palpitations, took prescription diet pills that made me shit myself if I ate fatty foods. I did all the things that everyone does, that don’t work, that usually leave us heavier than we were and feeling worse about ourselves because we failed.
During those years of fighting with my fat, I allowed romantic partners to make me feel bad about it too. When I was 18, my abusive fiancé would literally behave like a feeder, and then berate me for weight gain. A year or two later there was the guy who, after fucking me, told me that he would only be attracted to me if I lost weight. I argued that even if I did lose weight, I would never be smaller than a UK size 14, I’m just not built that way. He replied that 14 would be acceptable, but ‘Let’s push for a 12’. I promptly told him to go fuck himself. When I was 30, my partner of almost ten years complained about my weight gain during our relationship, ‘It was nicer when you were smaller. But don’t lose your boobs or your bum, I like those.’ Oh, I’ll just carve flesh off of the undesirable areas, shall I? Perhaps even add them to my boobs and bum? Would that make you happy? When I furiously told friends about what he had said, they replied ‘At least he is honest.’
Despite these lovely critiques, I have somehow maintained a confidence about myself that I began to cultivate when I was around 25. Blogging was a big thing at the time, and there were lots of incredible fat people in that sphere. They were wearing clothes they liked, doing what they liked. Never saying ‘once I’ve lost the weight I can…’, just doing it now. Gloriously glorifying obesity with their mere existence. I had never seen anything like it, I was enthralled. I wanted to feel that free.
It took a lot of work, and several years, but now I do feel it. My body is not my enemy, we are allies. I wear whatever the hell I want, I do what I want. I live now, not in a hypothetical thin future. What a fucking difference it’s made.
Despite all this badassery, I still get nervous before a first date. I still worry about whether my pictures accurately portray just how fat I am. That I will be accused of catfishing because they thought my photos were pretty, and then the actual troll that I am is who showed up. I ask most of them if they are specifically attracted to fat women, hoping they will say yes and that I will feel my body is appreciated. When I look in the mirror, I like what I see. But I never forget that I am the absolute definition of grotesque for plenty of others.
My solution? I hold my head high. When I walk into any room I tell myself I am the sexiest motherfucker in the place. I ooze confidence. When I fuck, I fuck with abandon. I jiggle, I flow, I scream. I do it with the lights on. I don’t worry about how I look, where my tits have landed, or moving my belly or labia majora out of the way if needed. If a sexual partner wants me to do something that my size makes difficult, I adapt it or I simply tell them I can’t do that. I actively encourage every partner to touch my belly, grab it, love it. I can’t tell you how liberating that is, after years of trying to hide it. Someone recently told me that I am a powerful woman, and I feel that.
Do I have days where I think about what life would be like if I were thin? Of course I do. Do I actually want that life? No, truly, I don’t.
I was going to end there, but I want to include a paragraph about really lovely things that have happened to me while dating, in relation to my fatness, because it isn’t all bad, we just hold onto criticisms more tightly, I think.
The person I am currently dating has been wonderfully vocal about how much he enjoys and appreciates my body. He worships it, constantly tells me how good I look in all sorts of positions, loves seeing how I jiggle when I bounce. Another guy, on touching my naked body for the first time, excitedly muttered to himself, ‘So. Much. WOMAN!’ as he explored. The first guy who ever grabbed my belly while he fucked me looked so delighted with himself in that moment that I thought he might cry happy tears.
Realistically, it doesn’t matter too much what any of them think; good or bad. But words have power and whether we like it or not we can be affected by other people’s perceptions of us. I just try to let my own internal voice be the loudest, and most supportive. And above all else, I remind myself that I am hot shit and anyone who doesn’t see it is not worth my time.
Fat and Slutty 