OverFlow: I Miss Being Fat
I didn’t think I’d ever say this—because I never thought I’d ever be not fat—but I miss being a fat girl.
OverFlow is what happens when I overthink, overflow, and over-everything. When my feelings have nowhere to go, I write about them.
I didn’t think I’d ever say this—because I never thought I’d ever be not fat—but I miss being a fat girl.
Ever since the pandemic, I’ve gotten it into my head that I need to be healthier because I want to live longer, so I started eating better and exercising regularly. I lost some weight, but I was still firmly beyond a large size in clothing. “Maybe my body’s just built like this,” I often thought as I began the arduous process of healing my childhood wounds to learn to love my physical appearance. But this year, I got diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, and my primary care physician prescribed Ozempic.
Combined with my good habits, Ozempic worked to drop my excess baggage quickly. Last September, I weighed the lightest I’d ever been as an adult—and I was miserable.
Were There Ever Really Good Old Days?
When I think, “I miss the good old days,” which days am I thinking of? Because, to be honest, being fat in the Philippines was energy-draining and largely unsurvivable. No one who’s fat can keep their mental health intact while living in Manila. It’s not just the taunts and ridicule—it’s the food, too. Everything tastes delicious and pairs with white rice.
Because I was fat, I never thought of myself as beautiful or worth any attention. Why would I? Everyone shamed me for how I looked—even those who loved me. Fat was not typical in the Philippines, and everyone knew it. When I walked into a room, it was reflexive for me to look at everyone in it to determine if I was the fattest person there. Why? Because if I weren’t, my anxiety would ease just that little bit that would get me through whatever situation I was in. But if I were the fattest person, as I often would be, I would sigh and wait until I had a moment alone to drop my mask and let out my hurt feelings.
I was always afraid the chairs I sat on would give out underneath me. I only shopped at thrift stores because typical shops wouldn’t carry my size. I was always apologetic when I walked into an elevator or used an escalator. There were no good old days.
What Do I Miss About Being Fat?
It’s the lack of honesty that gets to me. Back when I first lost a ton of weight—before the pandemic and before moving to Vegas, even before Raf and I got together—people started complimenting me by saying that I looked great. But what the fat girl in me heard was, “You look great now. When you were fat, you were just a garbage human being.” And you know what? It’s the same each time I go through a period of extreme weight loss. People act nicer, are more patient, can stand to look at me for a long time, don’t comment on how much or how little I eat, and don’t roll their eyes when I sit next to them while traveling. But they’re not being honest. They’re blinded by how society taught them how to treat fat people. They don’t even know that it’s obvious how they’re treating me differently.
I also miss the feeling of community. Every fat person knows what it’s like, and most go out of their way to be nice to another fat person. I make sure other fat people know I listen to them, see them for who they are, and respect the space they take up. I still do this, but now I don’t get the same thing back.
I don’t recognize the person in the mirror. When I think of myself, I still see that fat girl wearing thrift shop clothes. The one that dyed her long hair in crazy colors so people would stop calling her “the fat one” and instead describe her as “the girl with the undercut and long blue hair.” I worked hard to accept and love that girl, so getting to know myself in my current body has been… challenging.
What Happens When You Get Want You Want?
It’s over, and the fat lady can’t sing because someone gave her Ozempic. I know this is ideally what I would have wanted. Losing weight means I’m healthier and more able to control my type 2 diabetes. I know my weight has nothing to do with how I accept and love myself. But sometimes, it still hurts to think of everything my fat self endured just to be treated fairly in this world we live in.
I guess that’s what missing being fat really is—it’s grief. I’m grieving the life of who I was when I was fat, or to be exact, the life of who I was when I was fat, if the world had just accepted me for who I was. I’ll forever be thankful for how that fat girl got me through my teens and early adulthood, and I’ll always love and miss her.
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