There’s a common misconception that body positivity and body-issues are ideas that are reserved only for plus-sized-women or mothers with tiger-stripes (stretch marks) or double-mastectomy patients.. Or, even, that they are exclusively reserved for women. This irks me. A lot.
Especially when I’m eating a baconator at work and everyone in the office starts asking me where I keep the fat or asks me how I can eat so crappy and stay so little. My nickname at my previous job was “Hollow Leg” because they decided that’s where I stored all the fat that should be on my body. My current job has very cleverly come up with the nickname “Tapeworm.” All monikers I’ve always dreamed of having for myself, for sure. (Naht.)
Here’s the thing, though—just like you wouldn’t comment on what a larger woman is eating and how she looks based on what she is eating… why are you doing the same to me? And just like you wouldn’t call a larger woman by a nickname because of her eating habits—why are you doing the same to me?
Granted—I’m not stupid. I know what these pseudonyms mean. I know calling me “Tapeworm” is your way of saying “I wish my metabolism was as high as yours,” or “I wish I could eat a baconator every day and not gain weight like you.” I get that these are coming from a mildly-positive place. I understand that no one is intending to bully or harass me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not self-conscious about my body.
I’m 5’3”. About 114lbs. I’ve got the shortest torso in life, no hips, no waist definition, chicken legs, and no ass. My hair is in the weirdest phase right now (growing out from a faux-hawk I was maintaining for a few years. Currently in mullet-stage) and my skin is like the “Before” picture in a ProActiv commercial. I’m extremely self-conscious about my body. Trust me: I’ve tried to put on weight: eating a certain number of calories a day, lifting weights, taking protein, etc. I’ve tried to sculpt this body into what “society” thinks it should look like. But it just doesn’t go that way.
This is not to say that I don’t think I’m attractive. I think that I’m beautiful. For the most part—I can walk into a store and find something that fits me and walk out satisfied. When I walk past a mirror or a super clean store window—I don’t avoid my reflection. I usually check myself out and keep it movin. I like Kelsea. She’s a confident lil mofo.
But my weight (or lack thereof), my diet, etc., aren’t open game to talk and joke about. Ya know?
Something to chew on,