A Decade in the Making

The main difference in the two pictures above? CONFIDENCE!

I remember how self-conscious I felt when I was 12 years old. As if middle school doesn't completely blow already, an ill-advised perm and a serious case of childhood obesity make it cruel and unusual. I remember how it felt to be that girl - the girl who uses a pillow to hide her stomach any time she sits on a couch, the girl wearing "mom jeans" before entering middle school, the girl going into the "cool stores" with her friends and being humiliated that they didn't make clothes for girls like her. What were girl like me called anyway? Chubby? Curvy? Thick? My personal favorite: big boned? 


No. I knew what I was. It was the one thing I noticed in every school picture. It was the first thing I saw when I looked in the mirror. It was the thing I cursed every single day. It was the reason I was learning to hate myself before I had any clue how great I could be or what I had to offer. In my twisted little mind, I was one thing above all else: fat.


I've heard it said that you can hear a million compliments but the one thing you remember more than any of them is the one rude remark some jerk made a hundred years ago. Isn't that the truth?! I remember sitting on the bleachers at a varsity boys' basketball game. Two of my sister's guy friends were sitting in front of me - the kind of guys you practice writing your name with on your notebooks. THOSE guys. Somewhere between my staring and drooling, I heard one of them refer to me as "8-Ball." Having no clue what they meant, I laughed at it. The other one, picking up on my ignorance, turned and whispered, "Do you even know why he calls you that?" Nooo, I admitted. "It's because you're..." he said as he motioned a half around his belly. It clicked. It's because I'm fat. At the time, I was speechless. I sat on that bleacher, pretending to watch the rest of the basketball game while I attempted to swallow the knot in my throat and force back the tears forming in my eyes. The taunting nickname continued well into junior high but somewhere along the way it faded and died off, just like those boys' athletic fame and glory did in the years following high school.


I'm not speechless anymore. I have a lot to say. This is my response, a decade in the making, for those two boys who scarred me worse than they could have ever imagined. It may be petty, insignificant, and outdated for them but it is something this former "fat" girl needs to say. If I could, I would get on a chair and scream it across the lunch room. This blog will have to do.


Dear silly little boys, 


That. Freaking. Hurt. It's a decade later and that one little moment of my life, that moment that you two thought was so clever, it still haunts me. That comment, along with countless others I've heard over time, are so representative of the sick culture we live in - where photoshopped models are the "body ideal," where eating disorders are increasingly common yet nobody seems to want to talk about them, where high school girls are starving themselves for days on end so that they'll fit into their prom dress. Though I doubt you understood at the time what you were doing, you damaged me. As if I didn't suspect it already, you convinced me that I wasn't beautiful. Your "joke" was NOT funny. 


But even though I still think what you said was pathetic, I do forgive you. You're the product of a society where we learn that skinny is hot, fat is not. I get it. But, just so you know, I would have been the beauty ideal for much of human history. Small waist. Thick thighs and back side. Wikipedia the greek goddess Venus real quick... BOOM. Roasted. 


Also, I want to thank you. Thank you for giving me a little bit extra fight when I'm about to give up during a multiple mile run. That's right, I RUN now. I'm 45 pounds lighter and 10 million times stronger than the girl you used to make fun of. As I cross the finish line of the Fargo marathon relay two months from now, I will be grateful for you two. You made me never want to feel the way I did that day at that basketball game. You didn't inspire me to lose weight by any means. You crushed my spirit and self-esteem. But you did make me realize how unhappy I was by treating my body with such disrespect. It took an entire decade, countless failed diet attempts, a whole lot of sweat and tears, and a unbreakable spirit but I think I have recently conquered what I once thought was impossible: I LOVE my body. 


I love that good food converts into grade-a, kick ass energy to fuel my body. I love that I can run farther and lift more than I ever thought imaginable. I love my body because it carries me where I need to go. It may not look like magazines tell me it should but it is mine and what's not to love about that?


P.S. This "8-Ball" has some clear answers for you now:
Did you break my spirit back then? It is decidedly so.
Was I the only girl you hurt? Very doubtful.
Could I ever forget what you said? Don't count on it.
Will I forgive you? Signs point to yes.
Will you give a shit either way? Outlook not so good.
Am I still glad I said it? Yes. 


Sincerely,
Lauren