Fat AND Happy?

Is it possible to be both? I sure as hell hope so, because it's possible I'll never be thin!

FAT and HAPPY BUDDHA WITH MY FAVORITE FOOD GROUP © Nan Tepper

I want to love the body I’m in.

I’m so very tired of my mind that spins out of control, my thoughts that say “you mustn’t eat this, you mustn’t eat that, because fat, protein, sodium, calories, high-fructose corn syrup, sugar, gluten. Is it organic? Does it have pesticides? Am I vegan or a meat-eater? Do I do keto? Avoid GMOs?” The voice inside that warns “you’ll get high blood pressure (have it, take a little blue pill), high cholesterol (yup, take a little pink pill), heart disease (nope), diabetes (nope), cancer (nope), blah, blah, blah.”

I know thin people who have those health concerns as well.

I’m not belittling the risks of ill-health caused by poor nutrition and the physical challenges that can present as a result of carrying extra weight, really, I’m not. I care about my health. And I need to care a little more, exercise a little more, play a little more, DANCE a little more.

It’s the fat-shaming that I mostly object to that I’m working to overcome. It’s the shaming from the culture we’re a part of. It’s the shame that rises from deep inside of me, because fat equals not good enough, not attractive enough, and certainly not sexy enough.

I’ll bet some of you are familiar with that shame, yes?

I’m tired of a culture that insists that we as women must show up for everything wearing svelte bodies, wrapped in tight clothing to be considered attractive and good enough. Good enough for what? We try to achieve this while living in a state of measured desperation. The level of desperation being equal to the number of pounds or inches we must lose in order to feel acceptable. Be acceptable? No, feel acceptable. And it’s never enough. One more pound lost, two more inches gone from a waistline that’s perfectly fine just the way it is. If I could only integrate that idea into my way of being.

That I’m perfectly fine just the way I am.

I’ve been programmed so completely that I know right off the top of my head that one gram of fat has 9 calories, one gram of carbs or protein each contain 4. How many of you know those fun facts? I bet again, there are a whole lot of you. Because we’ve all been conditioned. We’ve all been programmed. Thin, good. Fat, bad. Never, ever thin enough.

I go to a food recovery meeting every day. There are women in my meeting who are just like me. It doesn’t matter whether we binge, purge, or restrict. Whether we’re a compulsive over-eater, bulimic, or anorexic. We all have trouble loving ourselves just as we are. We’ve used food or the lack thereof, as a coping mechanism against feeling what’s really going on underneath the need to numb. At some point in our lives, we needed these behaviors because they kept us safe, gave us comfort when we saw no other way of easing the pain we were in. That there’s a societal expectation that we as women inhabit the body type of a little girl makes it even worse.

We’ve dieted or restricted to the point of near or actual death. We’ve counted calories, tried fad diets more than once. We’ve become malnourished because of our food choices. We’ve made resolutions every New Year’s to lose weight, go to the gym and work out ‘til we drop. We spend billions, yes, billions of dollars a year in search of relief that never comes. The U.S. weight loss industry earned 90 billion dollars in 2023. 90 billion. We hunt for short cuts that really aren’t, some of us get our stomachs surgically altered, our jaws wired shut. We’re slaves to our scales.

We come to believe that our worth is equal to our weight. How big our asses are, our breasts, our waists. What size do you wear? That all depends on the whims of the fashion industry. There’s no such thing as a standard size 8. Or a plus-size 20, 22, or 24. We are taught to hate ourselves if we don’t fit a norm that someone else established. What’s your BMI? How many different ways (or weighs) do we need to keep reminding us that we’re unworthy?

We’re willing to take medications that could make us suffer unrelenting side effects and break our bank accounts if only, only, only we can finally be thin. Willing to deal with potential misery in order to attain the goal of thinness, we find we’ll have to take those meds forever to keep the weight off, or worse, we might deprive a person with diabetes who really needs these outrageously priced meds to stay alive, all in the name of catering to our internalized fat phobia.

Yes, this is a screed, a rant, a rave. Do I sound angry? Good. Because I am.

I’ve been very, very thin, and very, very fat. Have I loved the thin me more than the fat me? Yes. I have. But it was impossible to maintain, and I was still unhappy. I just “looked better.” I say that in jest, because when I look at old photos of me, at my thinnest, what I see now is a young woman unaware that she looked like a walking skeleton. Because she got praised for it by other women mired in their own body hatred.

I’m so exhausted by all of it. It’s a rollercoaster I ride year after year after year. And there’s no relief. Restricting from foods I love just makes me want them more.

I’m harder on myself about my size than anyone could ever be on me. My inner critic does a great job making me feel awful about myself, I need no help in that area, thank you very much.

I deprive myself of things I love to do because of the enormous shame I feel about how I look. I don’t go swimming. I have a hot tub in my backyard that I’ve hardly used the last two years because I hate being naked in front of myself, and shopping for a bathing suit? I’ll pass.

But why do I feel shame, when at the same time I can look at another fat woman and see her beauty? I’m not kidding. There are women I envy for their apparent comfort with the way they present. They know they’re beautiful and carry themselves with dignity and poise. Maybe bigger IS better––or if not better––maybe it’s just fine.

If you judge me based solely on my size and find me lacking in some way or find me to be just too much, you might miss out on all the goodies I come packaged with. If I judge you that way, I’m sure to miss out as well. Because yes, I’m fat phobic, too.

I sometimes cringe when I look at all of me in the mirror. I avoid looking at all of me in the mirror most days. I forfeit glamour for the sake of self-protection, self-denial. I hate shopping for clothing. I don’t want my picture taken; I don’t want a video record of me performing, I don’t want to be on camera for the new podcast I’m creating––it’ll be audio only––at least for now. The body dysmorphia I had as a thin person, I also have as a fat person. The self-hatred goes deep.

But on some level, I know I’m beautiful. Inside AND out.

When my relationship with an ex-girlfriend was in its beginning stages, she made a video of a story slam I competed in. I looked at the video, and said,

"I can't believe how big I am." Her response?

“No matter how big you think you are, you're getting laid, so you're fine.”

Who says that to a person?

I burst into tears at her statement and when I called her out, she was horrified that those words popped out of her mouth. She apologized to me over and over, and I thought I had forgiven her. But it colored my sense of safety. No matter how many times she told me I was luscious, a goddess, that she loved my body, that I was a wonderful lover, that I was gorgeous, it didn’t matter. I didn’t know until after the relationship ended how much her statement affected me. How much it hurt. And I understand where it came from. Our own internalized fat phobia. We were taught to hate our bodies. We were told that unless we lived up to a certain standard, we were disposable. I know that intellectually, but it didn’t lessen the pain I felt. And I couldn’t talk about it, because I didn’t make the connection.

I never felt safe to be uninhibited or generous with my body with her after that occurred. And that hurt us, our relationship. I hurt her by rejecting her without explanation.

I live with these thoughts every day. The never-ending monologue that spins its tales about my worth. The constant yammer in my head. I know I’m a good person; I know I possess gifts, talents, a generous nature, and a kind soul. And yet, that’s somehow not enough.

I had a moment the other day where I experienced a glimmer of grace. A thought flashed through my head; my inner voice asked, “what if it was entirely okay with me to be a fat woman, strut my stuff, and enjoy food? Enjoy life, without the constant background noise? What if I stopped fighting with myself about my food choices and my so-called addiction to sugar? What if I was just okay with who I am?

I’ve been going to my meeting for over a year waiting for something magic to happen. And people in the meeting have been telling me all along that it will.

That moment when I experienced Grace; when I realized that I’m fine just the way I am, that I could have peace around food if I just surrendered to what is and embraced that voluptuous woman called Nan.

It doesn’t mean making unhealthy choices. What it means to me is shifting my focus.

That moment was utterly peaceful and then it swam away from me. So, I’m telling you about it to keep it alive. I told my sponsor about it, and she said, “I love it. That sounds like recovery, that sounds like surrender.”

I said in reply, “I need to get it back, that feeling, right now!”

I knew how silly that was. This shit takes time.

My sponsor said, “Yes. I know! Surrender is fleeting, because it’s NOT EASY!!”

And, I said to her, “I don’t like my belly fat. Can I make friends with it? My belly?”

“You can,” she said. “Again, it’s NOT EASY!!”

What if I could stop fighting? I want to eat ice cream if I want to eat ice cream and never count another fucking calorie in my head. I’m not giving up my quest for healing, I’m not throwing in the towel if I choose to eat that ice cream. I’m finding balance while loving myself just the way I am.

The beauty that I see in others isn’t really about physical beauty. The beauty comes from inside, it comes from inner peace, self-love, and a radiance that emanates because of a connection to a higher self, to grace. It’s about living a balanced, grounded life.

That’s the stuff I want to strut.

Not this:

Or this:

THIS!

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