- Growing up, I was always self-conscious of my body and tried to cover it up as much as possible.
- Seeing people like me on Instagram doing what I wanted to do gave me the perspective I needed.
Sweat clung to my upper lip. It was the dead of summer of 2010, and in northeast Philadelphia, the heat and humidity rolled off the blacktop in nauseating bursts. Any rational person would be in a tank top and shorts.
I was in low-rise jeans that flared out at the leg, held up by a studded belt and topped off with a short-sleeved band T-shirt. It was absolutely suffocating. I slipped a quarter-sleeve black cardigan over it for good measure.
I hopped down my steps and into an open car door in one fluid motion.
My friend, who had always been as naturally tiny as I am naturally fat, looked me up and down. "Are you out of your mind?" she more so told me than asked.
I knew she was referring to my cover-up — the sweat rolling down my brow confirmed it.
"My arms are gross," I said with a shrug. I turned up her air and blasted the vents toward me for some relief.
This is how it was for me every day of my life. I was living in constant fear of being seen.
It wasn't until I was an adult, thanks to social media, that I started doing the things I wanted. I stopped trying to hide in the background and didn't mind if I was seen by others. I've never been happier than I am today.
I felt like eyes were always on me
As a lifelong fatty, I knew all too well how many criticizing eyes were always on me. I felt it every time I ate anything but a salad in public or my shirt hugged my stomach just a little too snugly. I'd been mocked relentlessly for my size throughout my whole life, so by the time I hit my mid-20s, I subconsciously tried to move through the world in a way that wouldn't brighten the target on my back.
My hyperconsciousness of my body stopped me from living life. I couldn't enter a room without being acutely aware of my size and how people reacted to it. I wouldn't go to water parks or pool parties. I skipped out on sports so I wouldn't be the only fat person on the team. I wouldn't even sit on a couch without putting a pillow in front of me to hide my stomach.
The body anxiety was crippling.
For as long as I could remember, I had always wanted a tattoo on my leg, but I never got it, just in case I magically dropped 50 pounds and the ink would be affected. I decided I'd lose weight, and then as a gift to myself, I'd get that tattoo. But no matter how much I lost, it was never enough to justify the tattoo.
Social media helped me to care less
As wild as it may sound, Instagram helped me put things into perspective. While mindlessly scrolling, I, of course, saw unnatural and unattainable thinness, but I also saw unapologetic fatness. The kind that wore crop tops and went hiking and laid on the beach with lumps and rolls on full display. It looked liberating.
So I got the tattoo. And then, I got more. And then, I started coloring my hair the crazy colors I always avoided so I wouldn't be "seen," and I began to actually live in the fat body I had. Over time, I went to beaches and pools and worried about having enough sunscreen on versus what others thought of me.
I even began wearing tank tops and shorts in the summer.
Currently, I am the fattest I have ever been in my life. It is also the happiest I've ever been in my life. And I owe it to the body I once hated.
I've got one life, and I can't wait to live it in all my fat glory.