I’ve been debating on whether or not I should write this blog post at all; and especially whether I should publish it. It’s a tough decision for me because it is intensely personal, more personal than anything else I’ve shared here. It’s just that I can’t be the only one who thinks or feels this way and I want to finally come right out and admit the full truth. Something which I have alluded to in past blog posts but never outright said it.
The truth is: I hate being fat.
There. I said it.
And I mean it. I hate being fat. I hate my fat body. I hate how it makes me look and I hate how it makes me feel. Being fat makes me feel gigantic, uncomfortable, awkward, slow, lumbering, ungraceful…I could go on an on.
I hate that I find it hard to walk anywhere right now. I hate that just bending down to pick something up off the floor leaves me breathless. I hate that my clothes don’t fit properly. I hate that it takes so much fabric to cover me up. I hate that when I look in the mirror I can’t see anything but how fat I am. I look in a mirror and the sight of my own body makes me sick.
I look at people who aren’t fat and I envy them, and wonder what does it even feel like? Being fat, being obese; it gets in the way. When your own body gets in the way of how you walk, how you sit, how you lay down; you have to rearrange your fat rolls so that it’s comfortable…what does it feel like to not have your body in the way? I’ve been fat for so long I’ve forgotten what it was like to not be fat.
I envy people who aren’t fat. I hate being fat. I don’t understand how I could ever accept and love this body as it is. No matter how many people preach body acceptance, I just cannot see how I could accept mine. I don’t want to accept it. I hate it. I loathe it.
It gets worse. Right now, I’m not only fat; I’m fat and depressed and sick and injured. So many strikes against me that I despair of ever being fit again. Before all this, when I was just fat, I dreamed of running more marathons, of travelling to run races and see the world. It wasn’t a stretch to believe those dreams could come true. As fat as I was I had already run one marathon. But now those dreams are nearly ashes. And I hate it. I hate this place I am in. I hate being fat. I hate being depressed and sick. I hate being injured.
But most of all I just really, really hate being fat.
This confession may or may not shock you, and you might be worried about me when you read it. I just want to reassure everyone reading this that I know I’m in a bad place right now, and I’m doing what I can to look after myself and be compassionate towards myself. I have a great support network in place and I’m not alone in this. I just wanted to put this out there because I know, I just know that there are other people who feel the same. People who find it hard to accept their bodies. People who look at those who preach acceptance and think they could never accept their own body. People who can’t imagine ever wanting to. If you’re reading this and thinking ‘that’s me’; you’re not alone. I feel that way every second of every day. The real struggle is in accepting that I don’t accept my body right now and being kind to myself anyway. That’s a lesson I’m desperate to hold on to.
If what I’ve said has affected you, and you want to comment but not in a public space, feel free to DM me on twitter or email me (thisfatgirlruns at gmail dot com). We can work on the lesson together.