I read a great blog post (in Swedish) by Elisabeth Björk and I just had to interrupt my studying to blog.
You see, all my life, since i was very little. I’ve known that I’m fat. And that this was a BAD THING. And while not as fat as many others, still, it’s noticable and different.
And that was, in a way, what defined me. When I was teased in school, that was the one thing they focused on. When I bought clothes, same thing. When I started exercising, it was all about becoming thin(ner). When I got to puberty, it wasn’t about growing up, but that I might lose weight.
If I would only lose some weight…
If I just lost some weight…
This is what I’ve heard, all my life, from magazines, school, my parents, my relatives…
If you just lose weight, everything will be fine. If you’re thin, you won’t be different anymore.
Got any problems? Headache, stomach ache, depression? I’m sure it’s just because you’re fat.
Any wonder that I thought this was the only thing worth noticing about me. Fat. As in something negative, a burden on me. A Swedish journalist once wrote: “In every fat girl, there’s a thin woman longing to get out.”
My very existance, my entire life, was defined by the fact that I’m not as thin as someone else.
23 years on this earth, and that was it. My eulogy: “She wasn’t as thin as the others.”
My life was, I felt, essentially on hold because I was fat. I won’t get a boyfriend as long as I’m fat. There’s no point in even trying. I can’t dance, because I’m fat. I can’t wear short skirts because I’m fat. I will though, once I’m thin. Later. Some other time. Just not now, because I don’t deserve to right now.
It is insane. Insane, do you hear me? How much time did I waste waiting for that one day where it would be OK for me to live my life? How insane is it that I’ve been taught my entire life that that is just something I have to accept. Second-rate citizen.
And it’s my fault, because I’m fat and that’s because I have no self-control and I’m disgusting. Read any magazine, that is the bottom line.
In a way, this is what I’m most grateful to feminism about. The realization that I can life my life and I’m about so much more than just being fat.
That being fat is OK. I don’t have to wait.
I’m so many things worth noticing. I’m so much more than just fat.