But this is also where it gets complicated. As it happens, there are a lot of reasons whyI hate being fat. Yes, some of it revolves around things other people think about me. Or might think about me.
When I meet new people in this fat body, I cant help but wonder if theyre judging me. People have a lot to say about this, like how its a personal problem and "silly" that Id even think about it. But I think its pretty damn natural and human. Virtually everyone has grown up desensitised to fat jokes and disparaging remarks about large bodies.
So, yes. Its only natural that I am painfully aware of the way other people view fat bodies. As if were lazy or stupid and somehow less valuable than others. I find it impossible to not consider such feelings and first impressions.
When people find out thatIm a single mother with no interest in romantic love right now, I know that many people will think that means Im too fat (or too gross, too lazy, too something) to get a date.
And when I speak up for myself on social media, Im well aware that somebody who knows about my weight issues will accuse me of being "a big fat b*tch". Plenty of people take issue with a fat woman who refuses to shrink down in size and stay quiet. Fat women who use their voices to speak up are often portrayed as bossy, pushy, and crass.
In real life, there have been plenty of people who stare at my shopping cart or make a big deal about sharing space with me in the supermarket as if I might somehow squash them. Or, like my body might be contagious.
Get used to it, strangers say. Either that or lose the weight.
***
My personal problems with being fat arent just limited to these social fears and awkward moments of strangers behaving badly. There are real-life issues that Ive wanted to open up about but the thing that always stops me is shame.
"Chub rub" is something lots of women deal with, but when you have severe lipedema, its a whole new beast. Lately, its my beast as my right inner thigh has erupted into a mass of painful blisters, nodules, and irritation. Two nights ago, I made the mistake of putting Band-Aids on the mess. Every time I stood up or walked around, the bandages felt like they were digging into the folds on my flesh. To make matters worse, they were the waterproof kind that securely adheres to your skin.
It took at least 30 minutes to remove the band-aids this morning, and then I had to admit that theyd only exacerbated the situation. So, now, Im sitting on my bed with my right leg propped up, slathered in antibiotic ointment. And do you know what?
Read the original here:
'At 180kgs, I decided to quit dieting. Quit trying to lose weight. Hopefully forever.' - Mamamia
