“Oh, the chubby one?” “The fat Asian girl?” “Oh… the overweight friend?”
I definitely had a name, but if someone really wanted to identify me, descriptions like this would always arise in conversations. Fat, chubby and overweight. The three main words that I have constantly heard and seen as I would look at myself through the mirror. Just like many girls, I have dealt with my fair share of self-esteem issues and lack of confidence. Whether it be from my lack of ass or astonishingly round face, I always found something to pick at with my physical appearance.
Being in a family full of girls, I have always struggled with comparing myself to all of my sisters. Would I grow up with a rocking body like my older sister who worked at Hooters? Or would I be pretty enough to work as a Hollister model like my other sister? I remember sometimes I would just stare at my sisters in awe as they painted their faces with makeup and wore the hottest clothes. I have always wanted to be like them. They were my point of reference.
But as I grew up, I slowly started to watch myself blow up in each and every family photo. My body wasn’t like theres at all, but I have always hoped my body was just “in a stage”. But the pain of seeing yourself being the “bigger” sister, instead of the younger sister started take a toll on me. Here I was stepping on scales, crying because I knew my sisters couldn’t imagine being over 130 pounds, while I am beyond what I knew was healthy. You would think that would motivate me, right? Wrong. I turned to the only thing knew to comfort me. Food.
Next thing I knew, borrowing clothes from any of my friends was out of the question and I definitely couldn’t suggest myself as a flyer in cheerleading, even though I was an ideal height. My pants were climbing up the double digits and all I could do was watch Instagram models and hope somehow I would wake up with a body like Candace Swanepoel. Old dresses didn’t zip up for my Tri Delta pledging (girl, I STRUGGLED) and knee high boots rarely could make it pass the ankle. I was fully aware of what was happening, but never worked on what I wanted myself to be. Fad diets were a thing and pills were taken, but not long enough to see results. I saw myself as a lost cause, even though I never even really tried.
As college came around, I dreaded partying in tight clothes and short skirts. Girls in the dorms would be walking around so effortlessly in sports bras and crop tops, while I was wearing baggy shirts and constantly pulling up my pants to cover my stomach fat. At times, I would just breakdown and cry when reevaluating what I ate at Braiden or snagged at DX. But what hit me the most was when I discovered I weighed more than my 6’2 boyfriend and weighed almost as much as my DAD. Words couldn’t describe what I felt after discovering this at the doctor’s office. I haven’t looked at a scale in years and now I understood why. I was not where I wanted to be and I hadn’t even tried to change. I knew I needed to do something.
Okay, so you probably expect me to be like “that’s how I lost 50 pounds” or “now I can run a mile in 7 minutes and I am a new person!”. No. Not at all. Far from it actually. But I can tell you, how I feel about myself from the past 5 years to now is a complete 180. The numbers might’ve not changed, but when I look in the mirror, it’s without shame. I’m a bigger girl, cool, I get that, but I am way more than just my weight and I am slowly changing myself in order to become a happy, healthy woman. My numbers are not who I am and I know that I am an individual. Not my sisters and definitely not an instagram model, but a woman with goals. Yeah, I still deal with some problems that I wish I could change, but it’s nothing I can’t fix. It’s okay to be insecure sometimes, but I have stopped letting it control my life. I love who I am with, where I stand in life, and who I surround myself with.