People can be monsters, and I don’t mean in the Lady Gaga sense. They can be downright vicious to others without even realizing the irreversible damage they cause in the process. Though I keep it hidden away in a corner of my mind, I have a lot of memories of this kind of often subtle ruthlessness. I spent most of my young life as “the fat girl.” This is what I remember.

I remember the rough cobblestone steps leading up to my grade school. I sat on them clinging my green vinyl lunchbox for all of recess when my classmates didn’t want to play with the fat new girl.

I remember how my first grade teacher would scowl and scrunch up her dark eyes when she watched me trying to tie my shoes. “How you struggle!” She sneered. She didn’t realize how much.

I remember how other kids in the school would pass me in the hallway and say, quite simply, “You’re fat.” Cue my self-consciousness forever.

I remember how my teachers would pass out school pictures to the class when they came back from the photographer. I knew I was about to get mine when they tightened their lips and dropped their eyes. Then they’d hand my pictures to me with the clear cellophane window face-down. They were that bad. Read More »

I have an inner Chub-Scout. Sometimes, on binge days, she gets embraced a little tighter than usual. I use the term to be funny about it, and it tends to get a laugh, but it’s the bane of my existence.

By looking at me, you probably would just be confused by this statement until you saw me on this “binge” or “cheat” day. I’m your average twenty-something: purposefully purchasing jeans that do not induce OSTS, and have even been called ‘thin’ by the rare observer. Which is nice. But in my head, dear reader, it’s sweet but simply not true.

Bottom line is: no matter how I look now, I was the fat kid.

I know what you’re thinking: if I appear to be an average-sized girl now, what difference does it make that I spent my childhood chubby? The weight didn’t stay with me, right?

Not even close.

A fat-kid complex isn’t something you can shed by counting calories and drinking your eight glasses of water a day. Not when you’ve been on a diet half your life, have dealt with the name-calling and — what can actually be worse — being flat-out ignored. You’re stuck with those memories of the gangly girls in your elementary school classes calling you “fat” with that look of disdain, like you’re a failure at life because you’re bigger. You’re ignored by the boys you have crushes on in junior high and high school, convinced that your fate is to go unwanted.

And so it’s been ingrained in your head. You don’t know why it has to be this way, but what you are is not good enough. Period. Read More »