Hello. my name is Lielabell and I’m fat.
I have red hair and a great laugh and I’m fat. My hands are small, my eyes are blue, and my teeth are slightly crooked. I’m loud and friendly and fat.
People think I’m funny, I’m a fairly stellar conversationalist, and my finger nails are always painted in some ridiculous way or another. I over commit myself in a thousand ways and have a terrible habit of double or even triple booking myself if I am not careful, so I’m super conscious about putting things on my calendar as soon as I agree to them because double or even triple booking is rude and I hate being rude.
Also, I’m fat.
My favorite color is purple, though I am drawn to blues and greens and, of course, black. I loves me some black. I like to read, a lot, and write, a lot, and spend far money than I should on fabric because you can never have enough.
My family is very important to me, we are super close because we are lucky like that, and my friends have a tendency to merge into family. I am extremely affectionate and heap compliments on the heads of the people I adore.
I’m more than a little formal and I sing for no reason and I’m fat.
I am. It’s true. I have thick thighs and stretch marks and back rolls too. But really, it’s just one aspect of who I am. It doesn’t define me. I don’t feel fat solidarity with my other fat friends. It’s not actually something I care about or put much focus on.
I’m too busy enjoying my life to care that I am fat, the same way I am too busy enjoying my life to care about the fact that I’ve developed a few faint wrinkles, and that my breasts— which have always been more on the saggy side than the perky one— have started hanging even lower as I age.
If it matters to you, that’s perfectly alright. Whether it’s a plus or a minus in your mental checklist, either way doesn’t bother me. I’m sure that you as a person have your own mental math when deciding if you want to interact with someone the same as I do and my being fat is as valid a reason to dislike or like me as my obsession with Depeche Mode.
And if you decide you don’t want anything to do with me, well that’s fine too. There are thousands upon thousands of people in this world. So many people that I will never, ever be able to meet them all. And, honestly, I can’t expect to be friends with the small percentage of people I do meet. It’s just not possible. Even if it was, I wouldn’t have any interest in it, because I only really want to be friends with the subsection of humanity that I find interesting.
I can only assume that is the same for everyone out there and I can also only assume that, just like I’m not interested in knowing everyone, everyone won’t always be interested in knowing me.
I have accepted this fact and I have moved on.
But what I can’t move on from is people who feel that I need to be defined by my fatness. That I need to be constantly aware of it in either a positive or negative way.
"Don’t eat that, it’s not good for you" is just as repellent as "Can I feed you cake? I want to watch you eating."
"Don’t wear that, it’s too tight" is just as uncomfortable making as "Wear something backless, I want to see your rolls."
"You should lose weight" is just as annoying as "I love how big you are."
My weight is my own concern. If I want to gain, lose, or stay as I am then I can do just that. Just like if I want to take of tatting or focus on my writing more or decide to learn how to fly.
I am fat. I am. But that’s not all I am. And if you can’t see that, well. Remember that bit about not needing to have everyone I’ve met be part of my life? Yeah. That just might apply.
For the record, I am uninterested in hearing a bunch of thin shaming shit in any comments this post might get. I won’t delete them, but I won’t reply to them either. I am not defined by being fat. Other women are not defined by being thin. And no one body type is inherently more “real” than another.