Loren from London has been through years of bullying, and still deals with trolls both in real life and online. She’s also the proud daughter of a 6ft6 “beast of a man” and comes from a long line of big, fabulous women.
I just walked past my favourite glass door at work. This door is pretty special. You see, I’ve walked past it every day for the past 18 months, each time having a little side eye at myself.
The reason it’s special is because the person who fitted the glass miss measured, meaning that when I look at myself in it, it makes me look elongated and distorted in a wholly pleasing way.
I returned to my desk with my unappealing breakfast yoghurt and disappointing green tea in hand. I sat down, and I caught myself thinking about my body and certain instances that have happened recently to throw its worth into question.
I’m sure by now you have seen the fearless and beautiful @nataliemeansnice confront a man for fat shaming her on an airplane. Not only did he insinuate that she had eaten an entire Mexican, but that if people needed to evacuate the aircraft, she would not be able to help them to safety due to her size. Oh, how I wish this moronic attitude was a one of, rare occurrence.
Unfortunately for me, it happens almost daily, and surprisingly more so from other women. Aren’t we told we’re supposed to be building each other up, not knocking each other down? Yey feminism.
I notice the not so secret’ photographs, the sideways glances, the elbow jibes and the cruel things that hushed voices whisper in my direction. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fully aware I’m a spectacle, I accept people are going to stare. You don’t breeze through life at a statuesque 6ft1 looking like a fat version of Leeloo from the fifth element and expect to blend in. But my mother told me it’s better to be the one they’re taking the photos of than the vanilla, sad sack taking the photo.
I’m the proud daughter of a 6ft6 beast of a man. I also come from a long line of big, fabulous women.
I’ve never been made to feel that my size was wrong or hindered me from doing what I want to do. But the frustration remains. Why do people deem it necessary to call me massive, huge, or comment that I could do with missing a meal or two?
We forever lecture children on the way they should treat each other in the playground. We’re anti bullying, anti-prejudice and all the other anti’s you can think of. We spout that we should accept every single body, because every single body is beautiful. I’m fully aware I sound like a bullshit, basic bitch Instagram post right now.
If we all sauntered about the streets cruelly mocking everyone for their flaws be it a gigantic nose, for being too thin, for having bad skin/hair/dress sense, just think about what a vile, hateful society we would be. But when it comes to weight, it’s almost acceptable to shame it. But why is it OK to turn my body type into a flaw and mock it? It seems my ideal body weight is yours, not mine.
Anyway, when I walked past the glass door in my office this morning. It had been rehung.
I no longer looked like a string bean alien women. Instead a 30-year-old fat woman, who really needs her roots doing, looked back at me in all of her glory.
She’s not perfect, she’s a great daughter, girlfriend and friend, she drinks too much gin and eats too may milky ways, but she’s doing OK. She has also taken to writing about herself in the 3rd person in her blog post, which is kind of cringe.
To summarise it’s taken me 30 years and 3 months to realise that not one drop of myself worth comes from your acceptance of me. Going forward I need to either confront or outright ignore the shamers, but remember that when it comes to my body, shame is something I will never feel.
You can follow Loren’s journey on her blog Everything But The Fat Girl.