“Fat oaf.”
That’s a name my best friends back in seventh grade and I would use on a daily basis, usually to describe an unpleasant looking person. Call us bullies, but it was just a funny pair of words to us back then, and it’s not like we actually called anyone that to their face or anyone we actually truly knew. But anyways, that’s not the point. The point is that name has stuck with me over the last seven years, and not in a good way, because for the last seven years, I’ve been calling myself the fat oaf.
I’ve struggled with body image for roughly the last ten years. I remember being in the fifth grade and looking at myself in the mirror and thinking I looked like a pregnant woman because of my protruding stomach. That’s when I first learned to suck it in, and I’ve gotten so good at it that I don’t even have to consciously think about doing it anymore. I’ve stared at myself in the mirror every day and have just seen flaws. My stomach’s resemblance to a pregnant woman’s, my large waist, my thick thighs, my small boobs, my large nose, my crooked smile, my stretch-marked butt…that’s all I’ve ever seen the last ten years of my life—the last half of my life. A fat oaf.
One time, I attended a cheerleading camp at a local high school. The camp leaders were putting us into stunt groups, and I so desperately wanted to be a flyer. But only the stick-thin, tall girls were being chosen to fly, and in that moment I knew that I would never be a flyer as I looked down at my stomach. Around the same time, I was getting ready to go out to recess when a girl in my grade pointed out a large pimple on my face, taunted me, and asked me if I even washed my face. Some boys in my eighth-grade class called my Jew Nose and flat chested, which at the time didn’t bother me much, but thinking back at it makes me wonder if they were just poking fun or if they really meant it. Another time, I went out to Buffalo Wild Wings with some friends, and afterward, as we made our way to the movie theatre three of my friends made fun of the fact that my Pink yoga pants were too short on me. They were short on me because I had gained some weight in my thighs. A year later, I joined the cross country team, and on a particularly hot day every girl on the team took off their tops and ran in their sports bras except me because I was so embarrassed by my stomach. Or recently when I went out to breakfast with my best friend, the waitress complimented me on my outfit but complimented my friend on how skinny she was.
I can’t count the number of times I’ve cancelled plans because I could never find an outfit that flattered me or the number of times I’ve had to make numerous trips back and forth from the dressing room to pick up a bigger dress size, or the number of times I’ve just looked at myself in the mirror and broken down crying over my appearance. I can’t count the number of dermatologists my mom has taken me to so that I could correct my acne, or the number of push-up bras I’ve owned to increase my cup size or the number of YouTube videos I’ve watched that show you how you can lose weight instantly. I can’t even begin to imagine the number of times I wished I was skinnier, or had a pretty smile, or had clear skin, or the number of times I wished I could look like one of my stick-thin friends or the number of times I wished I could stop looking in the mirror and calling myself worthless.
Now I know what many of you are probably thinking. You’re going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous here, that I’m beautiful, that I’m skinny, that I’m perfect the way I am, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. The thing is, I know I’m being exceptionally hard on myself. I know I’m striving for perfection, which is something unachievable. I know all that already. But when you’ve conditioned yourself into telling yourself day in and day out the last ten years that you are an ugly fat oaf, you can’t just automatically accept your loved one’s compliments about how beautiful you really are. It’s going to take me a long time to be able to really accept those compliments. Second of all, just because I’m not exceptionally overweight or because my acne doesn’t affect my entire face or because my teeth aren’t in dire need of braces does not mean I can’t have body image issues. Anyone and everyone can struggle with their body image no matter what they look like, and I happen to be one of those people.
Some of you may also say, “Well, if you aren’t happy with the way you look, then do something about it!” And boy, have I tried. I can’t count the number of times I’ve tried to diet and exercise, the number of health apps I’ve downloaded, or the number of motivational quotations I’ve read. I do pretty well the first couple of days, and one time I even made it six months without giving in. But I could never find it in myself to keep pushing myself, to keep motivating myself, and so I failed each and every time. So each time I’m asked this question, I’ve simply said “I can’t” because of the staggering number of times I have failed in the past.
Recently, I hit rock-bottom with my body image. I spent hours crying into my boyfriend’s shoulder uttering phrases like “I’m a fat oaf” or “I’m such a fat disgusting pig” over and over again, and that’s when I realized that neither of us deserved that. He didn’t deserve to listen to the love of his life bash herself to no end, and neither did I. I don’t deserve the self-hate I inflict on myself every day. I don’t deserve to call myself a fat oaf every time I look in the mirror. I deserve better, and so despite my fear of failure, I decided I wanted to try and change the way I look at myself.
That same night, I sat down at my desk and wrote myself a note, and this is what it said:
“Tomorrow, I promise to look in the mirror and not see a fat hopeless pig, but a beautiful body in the progress of becoming stronger. I promise to stick with it no matter how hard it may get. I promise to love myself and encourage myself every step of the way. I promise to be optimistic and find a way to succeed. I promise that I will do this, no matter how long it may take. I can do this, and I will.”
The conditioned part of me tried so hard to rip this note up. Ten years of the same old, same-old, what makes you think you’re going to change? Well, exactly, it’s been ten years of the same old, same old. Ten years of body shaming myself for my supposable flaws. Ten years of standing in front of the mirror grabbing at my body fat and wishing it would just disappear. Ten years of crying myself to sleep because every piece of clothing I tried on that day wasn’t flattering. Ten years of wishing I could look like a celebrity. Ten years too long of all this crap. I’m ready to change.
I’m not going to lie and say it’s been a breeze since I wrote that note. I’ve caught myself saying that I was fat and a failure on several occasions. I’ve felt overly guilty after eating half a Little Caesar’s pizza on my cheat day. I’ve grabbed at my stomach fat at least once a day. But I am trying really, really hard, I promise. I don’t want to spend the next ten years of my life the way I spent the last ten years of it. I want to love myself and my body, and eventually, I think I’ll get there. Slowly but surely, “fat oaf” will be out of my vocabulary once and for all.
To anyone out there struggling with their body image, no matter if it’s only been for a few weeks or for a few years, know that you are not alone in your struggle. Whoever you are, you are beautiful, even if you don’t see it yet. Just know that you are so much more than what you see in the mirror and that you deserve so much more than the hate you inflict on yourself because of a few “imperfections.” I hope that one day each and every one of us struggling with body image will make these realizations, overcome this struggle, and finally be able to accept ourselves for who we are.
