Once a Skinny Girl Always a Bigger Girl

(I could have written more on this subject but it have gone on, so forgive me if I seem to be leaving out thoughts and ideas).

For the majority of my life, I’ve been a skinny girl. Not just kind of thin, but I a stick in high school and I wore double zero jeans. Which prompted my college friends who glanced at old prom photos of me to ask if I had been anorexic:

No, I wasn’t anorexic. I was just a really thin kid. My fathers side of the family hasn’t always been the best gift givers in the generic trait gifting department, between the shortness, the ingrown toenails and the crooked teeth, acne I got one wonderful generic trait that everyone on my father’s side has: “a fast metabolism.” My dads side of the family is the “on the go” kind of people, were cooking is never a concern for them. They would rather be outside running, riding dirt bikes or cycling. So I was lucky to eat whatever I wanted and gain nothing. It also helped I rode dirt bikes on weekends, played on club soccer team, ran cross country and track and really never sat still for a minute as a child.

Growing up I was a tomboy. There was no room for dresses or nice shoes in elementary school. Those clothing items only got in the way of recess sports. I wanted to play sports with the boys and prove I was much faster and more athletic than all of them. (I always was). Sports were a huge aspect of my life as a child due to the fact that I wasn’t great in the school. My learning disability made me quite and take a back seat in class, but sports I discovered was something I excelled at from an early age. So no dresses, no fancy shoes, no cute braids in my hair. My mother always tells me how badly she wanted to dress me up when I was young, but I would always just squirm out of everything. When I was away at school she would randomly send me clothes because she was so excited that finally I wanted to wear the cute dresses and boots and put on make

When I was away at school she would randomly send me clothes because she was so excited that finally I wanted to wear the cute dresses and boots and put on makeup.

End of sophomore year I was side-tackled pretty bad during a school soccer practice. Normally I’m pretty good at shaking things off like that, but I remember feeling pretty dizzy after the fall. I had landed on my neck and back in the worst of ways, but regardless of the dizziness of the fall I shook it off and went on with the day. Later that afternoon I went up to my mother worried because I could turn my neck left or right. It was very tender and very difficult to extend my neck. After a long E.R. visit, they found no broken bones. Few months later I was in Physical Therapy and after a few MRIs they told me I injured all the soft tissue in my back and neck. Lots of painkillers, lots of crying and not sleeping. I stopped playing club soccer and around my senior year, I did try stepping back in and it just wasn’t the same anymore.

I started to really gain more weight my first year at my four-year university. I was older, it was cold as fuck there. So  between growing up and filling out into a more woman form, to adding on meat to survive the winters I had gained more weight. I’ve gone from double zero to trying to a bridesmaid dress, size 10.

I’ve never really had a problem with my weight or my body. Besides my face breaking out I’ve never looked in the mirror dissatisfied with myself. I do love my body for what it is now but sometimes I just can’t help but dread the extra pound, dread putting on a swimsuit, the pool club parties I have to attend, the magazine folds full on women who look nothing like me. The thought that perhaps I’m not going to find someone to be with because this weight isn’t always ideal, isn’t always attractive.

And before you go on a rant of, “don’t say that” or “you are beautiful” even though none of you know what I really look like. I think my point with this whole post is the fact that nothing really has gotten better in the war of body shapes and sizes. Yes, there are more natural bodies in magazines, across the internet but has it really changed anything or have these larger bodies just shuffled into the folds next to everything else?

We spend so much time criticizing a dolls shape, a song about “bass” or how much the latest celebrity momma has shaved off her post-baby body. We forget to talk about how we aren’t over the thin body craze. How much my guy friends skim through hot thin celebrities, hot thin models and any larger woman has “personality” “humor” “big spirited” but the body is still left.

I sit down in my room looking down at my body and I realize we haven’t turned the tide at all in what is truly beautiful. Because I love my body, but I fear showing it off in public, because it’s not the ideal body.

“Sadly, the signals that allow men and women to find the partners who most please them are scrambled by the sexual insecurity initiated by beauty thinking. A woman who is self-conscious can’t relax to let her sensuality come into play. If she is hungry she will be tense. If she is “done up” she will be on the alert for her reflection in his eyes. If she is ashamed of her body, its movement will be stilled. If she does not feel entitled to claim attention, she will not demand that airspace to shine in. If his field of vision has been boxed in by “beauty”–a box continually shrinking–he simply will not see her, his real love, standing right before him.” ― Naomi Wolf

The One Who Changed Everything

I’ve been avoided this post because this one was going to be next. He was my next boyfriend and I wasn’t sure I knew what to write about, to talk about. I feel nothing about this situation now.

“So many events and moments that seemed insignificant add up. I remember how for the last Valentine´s Day, N gave flowers but no card. In restaurants, he looked off into the middle distance while my hand would creep across the table to hold his. He would always let go first. I realize I can´t remember his last spontaneous gesture of affection.”
― Suzanne Finnamore

To Know the Start, You Must Begin at the End

It was August, but I don’t remember the sticky T-shirt feeling your suppose to have during this month, or the sweaty walk up his flight of stairs and the continuing question, “It’s too hot to not have air units.” But I remember the wind, his window was open, even though he was nowhere near. I had two more hours before I would pick him up at the airport. I had to beg and plead with him to pick him up, to spend time with him for the night. His texts were worse than a sigh, he wanted to sleep and didn’t seem to have any interest in having sex, even though we hadn’t seen each other in three months.

Did I know he was cheating on me? 

In many ways yes, I knew. My mind had already made many of the connections, but the rest of my body wasn’t ready to catch up and learn he had cheated on me for five months (longer than I assumed). He hadn’t just been sleeping with some girl, but he loved (maybe still loves) her. He introduced her to his family during a vacation they took together, he stole my car to see her, he took out the photos of me and filled them with her tall, skinny body, her red lipstick and every photo of her showed had a soft smile.

Walking up his stairs that night didn’t feel different. But it was colder, for an August night it was almost chilly. And he didn’t even try and hide the beautiful lacy cami folded up so neatly, so gently. It wasn’t mine and I was sure this wasn’t a gift. Her love letters laid out across his bed, his poems written about her, some sweet and most sexual poems describing her breast, her pale skin, the way she fucked the best.

This girl wrote poetry (at this time I didn’t even imagine I would want to become a writer), she was edgy and had the same dark sadness he carried. They were perfect for each other and they figured this out before I ever did. Before he decided to let me know. And I knew her, pretty well actually. I had hugged her a few times, stopped by her birthday (where they met, were my roommates pointed out an uncomfortable flirting vibe)She was an avid activist and feminist woman and she was best friends with my best friend.

Walking down his stairs was a completely different story. My knees shook, the room seemed so hot and I didn’t feel the need to cry. I met up with my brother to pick up my cheating boyfriend from the airport. I hugged my cheating boyfriend, I smiled at his return and he mostly spoke with my brother. I finally noticed the distance had been there for months.

His main reason for cheating on me: He was in love and he thought we had broken up already. When he dropped me off at the airport, we hugged and a got teary eyed. We said goodbye and he though this was our break-up. Even though I spoke on the phone with him, text him and told him I loved him.



Random Memories

I remember finding one thing, this “list” he wrote. It had all the names of the women he had ever been with or loved/cared about. We weren’t ranked with numbers but in more of factual way.Every girl had two things like, Betty: Pretty eyes, kinky, Mary: Nice hands, enjoys going out. 

Mine were: “Sporty” and “Can get men easy”. 

Both were night owls, but those weird night owls who like to walk around parks late at night. My EX use to try and get me to join him, but I hated walking in public places at night. I wanted to be at home reading books, working on papers, watching a film. I would later find out they would go off together for walks in the park less than a mile from our houses. Yes, crazy to think we all lived in the same neighborhood. I later would tell my best friend about this, the one who lived with this girl and she would be shocked and say, “I remember her telling the house she was going on a late night walk and it was a normal thing for her to do.” I would say, “It was a normal thing for him to do too.”

He and I would try to be friends. I would forgive them both, because that’s what a young lady does. She doesn’t show her pain, she puts on a good face. That’s what the stories show. “You don’t want to be the bitch” So you met her, you welcome her into your house, you hear him talk about her hair, how her body is thin in just the right places. How she loves poetry, loves writing and how she doesn’t fit in with the world. I would break ties with him a year after it all happened, because he wouldn’t admit that stealing my car was a bad thing. He blames me for getting him fired, for ruining his life, for making her leave him. So he kicked me out of his house screaming at me, cussing me out and flipping me off.

We never spoke again and I never want to but he did text me congrats when I graduated, he text all these nice words and a bit of me wanted to text him back, but I will never let myself forget how he treated me. So no I will never speak to him again. I don’t want to.


But no, I don’t feel hatred towards him, sadness or regret. I feel nothing. Not the numb kind of nothing. Like when the dentist injects the novocaine into your gums, but the numbing sense something is missing that was once there. Like you once had wings but they were clipped, or all your hair falls out at once. I have forgotten so much about him and our time together. It feels like I’ve been thrown into the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind 

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Who am I now after three years? A young woman trying to get her shit together. I think it’s the best way to describe me. I have more trust issues than I can count and that I was aware of a year ago. The body issues I never had before and I’m scared another guy will call me stupid, put my down, grab me hard.

I spent a lot of time between other guys sheets trying to prove I’m not worthless

Today I sit in my room looking for old emails, letter, anything from this relationship to give me a jump start for this post and I realized I got rid of everything. It’s all gone and I just feel numb.