Imperfections

“How much McDonalds do you eat a day?” A kid said from across the room. A pit rocked in my stomach as I answered with honesty only to be met with sarcasm. “None. I haven’t been to McDonalds.” The kid scoffed, exciting laughs from the other boys that surrounded his table. I wanted the world to swallow me whole. For a deep chasm to just open up underneath the chair from where I sat. I sank into shame, hate, anger, but mainly sadness.

All the kids joked and took guesses on how much I ate in a day and what I ate. Cruel. Whoever said adults were mean had never met kids. Kids were brutally honest in the way adults weren’t. Kids couldn’t bite their tongue in the way adults could. I felt deflated, eyes glued to the little bit of chub spilling over my waistband. Looking back, I wasn’t any more fat than any kid in that room. The teacher did nothing but listen.

Growing up “fat” was a hard cross to bear. It was like it was branded into my skin, spelled out in my name, a chain around my ankle. Kids are ruthless, real self-esteem crushers. I couldn’t have been more than 11, brutally aware of my body. As I got older, this feeling that someone would dislike me for my body washed over me in waves.

Skinny friends sitting next to me calling themselves fat, waiting for my praise and, “No, no, you are beautiful. You are perfect.” How I longed for the same sort of praise to never hear it. Growing up fat played a role in what I wear, how I stand, how I act. For years it was covering myself in oversized shirts and sweaters. Anything to hide the imperfections of my body.

I still have days where I look at myself in the mirror and wonder what went wrong. But I also have days where I look at myself and love who I am. Sure I may not be skinny, but that doesn’t change who I am as a person. It took a lot of years to realize that nobody is perfect, no matter how much they act or seem like they are. We all have insecurities. Whether they be pointed out or just self hatred for one’s body.

I’ve learned that I’m stuck with the body I have, and should be kinder to myself. Treat myself how I treat others. Be the light in this dim cave I was hiding in. I’ve learned that no matter what you look like, what gender you are, who you are attracted to, what job you have, what hair you have, what clothes you wear, what car you drive, people are going to judge. So instead of trying to be perfect for someone else.. I’ve learned that I am perfect, for me.