Yet again, asking for a simple cup of coffee turned into something else entirely.
A lady — without hesitation — told me I needed to lose lots of weight, eat better, and take care of my face. As she said it, she reached out and touched my face. Uninvited.
It wasn’t the first time.
Once, a colleague looked at me and announced, “Your face looks lacklustre… kind of dark.”
Another day, she walked in, made a face, and asked, “Do you pull your hair?” referring to my female-pattern baldness.
And then there was the time I entered a room full of people. One colleague laughed, “I knew you were coming!”
“How?” I asked.
“The earth shook when you walked,” she said. And laughed.
Others laughed too.
I remember all of these moments. I don’t want to. But I do.
Maybe these comments weren’t intended to hurt, but they do. They’re triggers. They chip away at self-worth. For those of us who are overweight or obese, like me, it’s easy to feel diminished. We live outside the narrow lines of what society deems “acceptable.” Shame clings to us — sometimes self-inflicted, often gifted by others.
It’s a Herculean task just to face the mirror, smile, and feel joy. The constant mental tape plays: fat, bald, ugly.
Here’s the thing: we wake up in these bodies. We carry our own weight — literally. We walk our own paths. We live with our disadvantages, some of which others can’t even begin to comprehend. And yet, we show up.
If I were to write my biography based on society’s and loved ones’ criticisms, it would read:
47-year-old, single, dark-skinned, bald, morbidly obese woman with freckles — undesirable, unlovable, forgettable.
That’s the voice the world has given me.
It’s also the voice that echoes in my own head. Costantly.
Every day, I have a choice: to believe it or not. And every day, that choice is a battle.
But here’s the simple truth: I am not worthless.
I am a survivor of seven years of child sexual abuse.
I am battling food addiction. I am learning to understand my body now, at 47.
Whether I transform my health or not, only time will tell. But until then, the only thing I am committing to is life. Meaning, I am committing to not becoming a victim or a tragedy. Because I am here, to live and love.
And that matters.
