I was also a fat bride. One good thing about it is that, when times are stressful and all the negative self-talk comes out, you can remind yourself that he loves you and married you even though you’re fat. I was much thinner when I met my husband and used to beat myself up about having gotten fat. Knowing that he chose to marry me despite the fat helped me make the jump to knowing that I’m still a worthwhile person no matter how much I weigh.

(It’s not a particularly feminist or even logical way of thinking, but it’s comforting. Head-monkeys don’t necessarily respond to logic or feminism, but they sometimes respond to comfort.)

Sorry, I’m pretty much at “ditto” with what everyone else said. Remember when fall just meant you got lots of days off from school and trick or treating and class parties involving people dressing up like pilgrims? *sigh*

DRST

So thanks for putting this out there…

BTW we only talked about dates yesterday, and I’m not allowed to tell my family and friends until I have a ring on my finger – so you guys are the first to know!

Your life would be different if you were only prettier.

This is a myth I am only just starting to actively work against in my everyday life. Lately I’ve been happier than I have been in a long time, and it’s due mostly to coming out of a long period of depression, stress and anxiety. I’ve been feeling good about myself every day, and what kills me is that this feeling is somehow “odd” for me. Yes, liking myself seems out of the ordinary. That is truly sad. I wish we could all learn to like – nay, love – ourselves, especially when we’re not at our most awesome, especially when we’re dealing with stress and pain. That’s when we need to be kind to ourselves the most.

I have been feeling like everything in my closet looks awful on me, and my hair is too frizzy, and everything that I say and do seems awkward and wrong… I hate to even leave the house unless I absolutely have to some days. I didn’t go grocery shopping for 3 weeks, because I just couldn’t bear the thought of going out in public. In the third week, when faced with the choice of grocery shopping in a crowded place or drinking a cup of tea to squash the hunger pangs, I chose the tea.

I could go on and on but I am trying really hard to stop doing this to myself, so I won’t.

Speaking to the thought of “Your life would be different if you were only prettier.” – I thought that exact same phrase my entire life. Only recently, with the help of the wonderful blogs I lurk on and the human perspective it has given me, have I started to change that thinking.

Growing up, my two best friends were seemingly “perfect”. Thin, beautiful, perfect hair, great clothes, always saying the right thing, always graceful, etc. I always felt like an ugly sidekick. But thinking back, I have come to the conclusion that I am *lucky* that I was never what society would have us believe is the only definition of”desirable”. Here’s why:

My beautiful friends were subjected to constant and never-ending catcalls when they walked down the street. In public places, random men would approach them and try to get their phone numbers, hit on them, spew cheesy pick up lines, rub against them inappropriately, get too close for personal comfort, etc.

I remember several occasions where they would respond with a polite but firm “thanks, but I’m not interested” and the men would persist anyways, to the point of creepiness, not to mention that it was rude and annoying.

They could not gain more than a couple of pounds without everyone remarking on it and making jokes about it (because it was much more noticeable on their bodies than it was on mine, and they were expected to appear “perfect” so the slightest imperfection was cause for comment). And many other things come to mind as well.

If I had been “perfect” then I would have been subjected to the same kind of demeaning treatment as they were, which is absolutely no better than the demeaning treatment that I am subjected to as a fat woman. Trading their “perfect” bodies for my “flawed” body would simply be a trade of injustices. The real issue is that there are a lot of people in the world with no respect.

I have come to see my fatness as my “asshole filter”. If someone looks at me and is disgusted by my body despite the fact that my brain is brilliant, then they are clearly not worthy of knowing the kind, smart, fantastic person that is me.

On the other hand, those who treat me with the same respect and dignity I show them, and who don’t care one bit what my body looks like, are wonderful people who I am privileged to have in my life. 1 of them is worth more to me than 1000 jerks.

I don’t have to wonder if anyone is patronizing me because they think I’m beautiful, or if guys are only hitting on me without regard for my personality, or if anyone is “just trying to get into my pants”.

It took me a long time to understand, when I was younger, that the man I would eventually marry really did like *me* when there were so many more attractive women in the world. I didn’t trust him, wondered what his “ulterior motive” was. Was he pretending to like the fat girl because it was some kind of joke? (He is society’s definition of “hot” and that made me distrust him even though he was my best friend – how sick is that?)

When I finally believed him, that he loved me – ALL of me – I realized that I could, indeed, marry him after all.

I feel like I could talk forever on this subject, but I think I have already written a short story, so I’ll stop here.

That being said, responding to this post gave me a chance to talk myself out of a very depressing and self-hating mood. So thank you!

Right now I’m trying to work through my dating-anxiety (not by dating, but by analyzing myself obsessively *lol*). There’s a guy I know that might like me. I have to say might because I spent so many years telling myself that no one would ever be attracted to me that I now seem unable to pick up on any traditional signals; deep down, I think it’s probably because I do still doubt that anyone decent really would be attracted to me.

So now I have to decide whether or not I should talk to this guy, and I’ve slipped into my usual routine of finding not only 100 things wrong with him and with this situation, but also with myself. These days it’s my jawline and my collarbones…I keep poking at them, wondering why they aren’t more pronounced. And I look at my thighs and wonder why they aren’t less pronounced.

I know that these things aren’t really important, and that worrying about them won’t change anything, but it seems a whole lot easier than addressing any of my real problems *lol*