I am fat and I am beautiful but I love my body. How I move and feel and touch and how my body looks as well. I love every curve and every roll. Whether it’s gloriously naked or wearing sensuous fabrics, is a delight to my eye. Do you love your body?
For many people, the notion of beauty and fat even being in the same postcode is a hard one to fathom. Surely fat is as far from beautiful as you can get? But ‘fat’ is only a descriptor.
The word is perceived negatively because of all the horrid social and media stereotypes we’re fed about it every day. Truthfully, fat doesn’t equal unhealthy. Fat doesn’t equal ugly. Fat only equals, well, fat.
And me? I’m fat! I’m curvaceous, voluptuous, rotund, zaftig, fleshy and extremely lovely to hug. It’s obvious, just by looking at me, that my body is fat. I’m big-boned, so my flesh covers it amply and it does so naturally.
Do you love your body? Far too many people don’t
Beauty is a bit more in the eye of the beholder – but really, I couldn’t give two tosses what anyone else thinks of me or if they choose to call me beautiful (although plenty of people do, which is lovely). I think I’m beautiful and I worked a long time on my self-esteem to get to that point.
For a long time I held onto a hurtful thing my mother had said to me as a young teenager. It was one of those well-meaning comments that had the completely opposite effect and it left a bruise for years.
Why a bruise, and not a scar? Because a bruise hurts every time you bump up against it, and that’s exactly what this was – a memory that hurt every time I thought of it.) My mother had said to me: “You can’t be beautiful if you don’t lose weight.”
That was a zinger!
To not be thought beautiful by my own mother. I know now that she brought up the ‘fat vs skinny’ sterotype comment to encourage me to ose weight. But I believed what she said…
I wasn’t beautiful. I wasn’t ideal.
For many years, every time I was complimented or admired or people discussed the difference between aesthetics and beauty, a little voice in the back of my brain said to me in my mother’s tone: “You’re not beautiful, though.”
But I figured out, eventually, that beauty isn’t what my mother thinks it is. It’s what I think it is. I started with something small (well, comparatively): my lips. I always admired my lips – thought they were pretty damned perfect. I never could find anything to dislike about them.
But if my lips, why not other parts of my body? My toes were pretty awesome. My back rolls always made me smile – they were so much like my mothers. My cleavage was perpetually epic. My freckles pleased me. The more I examined myself, the more I saw to appreciate and admire.
This is what I eventually realised: Yes, I’m interesting-looking. But I’m also pretty. I’m beautiful and I’m gorgeous. I’m stunning, baby! There is no dichotomy, no either-or. I am all of those things, because I look at myself with love.
Whether I’m clothed or naked, made-up or fresh-faced, crying or smiling, muzzy with sleep or hyped on caffeine – I am beautiful. AND interesting-looking.
And you know what? So are all of you. Love your body. See yourself as more than a collection of body-parts you dislike (yes, those freckles, or chins, or cellulite or nipple-hairs or fat knees – and I have all of those).
Love your body and look at yourself as a whole person, with a body that (mostly) works. With a brain that spills out words and friends who love you for who you are. Look at yourself and see yourself as beautiful.
You are. And I am too. Love your body always!