I Am The Fattest Person In America (And Other Lies I Tell Myself)

I’m going to brag for a second, so hang with me. I think I’m a nice person. I have a pretty unique capacity to notice the good qualities in people over their less savory ones. I’m generous with compliments. I’m a sharer. I try (not always successfully but with great intent) to kvetch and complain respectfully. I donate all the time and money to others that I can afford. I’m even the kind of person who’ll let you into my lane. By almost all accounts, I’m a nice person. A positive person. A practicing optimist, as I like to say.

Except when I’m not, it turns out. Because I’m actually a raging jerk to the person I hang out with most: Moi.

Truth be told, when I say it out loud – that I’m the fattest person in America – it sounds funny. I mean, while I’m a curvy gal, I in no way have a record-breaking bod. But when I see myself in the mirror there isn’t even a hint of humor. Just disgust. Disappointment. Dislike.

This isn’t necessarily new for me, but in my quest for a calmer mind (see recent post about postpartum anxiety) I’ve been learning to notice my thoughts. I picture myself watching them on a conveyer belt as they pass. For the most part, my conveyer belt of contemplations is piled high with rose-colored goodness. Gratitude, curiosity, creativity. But more often than I would have thought, a poop-smeared mirror passes and I see myself through the lens of shit.

But, I haven’t been pooped on, you know? So what the… well, crap?

In sharing my realizations, I’m learning that my experience is an all too common one. Bright, beautiful, smart, capable, healthy adults I know and love do the same things to themselves. Maybe about their appearance, or their abilities, or their place in this world.

We live in a society that tells us why and how we should be what we aren’t or shouldn’t be what we are. We should look younger as we get older. We should be sexy but also modest. We shouldn’t openly adore ourselves. We should apply this, drink that, take this or use that (“let us help you polish that turd”).

Well, I’m not buying what you’re selling. Age is gorgeous and confidence is attractive as hell. If I’m going to be a better version of myself, it isn’t going to be because of a product, it’ll be because I realized I didn’t need it.

So, every time I have a dumpy thought, I’m going to pair it with a nice one. I want to be nice – to everyone.

Because I, for one, am sick of being number two.