TheBanyanTree: My Life As a Fat Woman

[Maria Gibson]

On Thursday, October 23, 1997 I was living in Okinawa.  Thirty-four
years old, mom of two, teacher of how to cook American foods to Japanese
ladies, wife of a Marine.  All of these things defined me but I was no
less defined by my weight.  It was a steel trap on my soul, a burden I
bore with a smile because I didn't know how else to bear it.  I was a
fat thirty-four year old, a fat mom, a fat teacher, a fat wife.  It was
the last thing I was at night and the first thing I was in the morning.
It wasn't something I gave a lot of thought to, not as much as I think
about it now, but it was a constant in my life.  On that day in October
1997, a day I'd believe was probably brilliantly sunny and hot as summer
hung on like a booger on your thumb,  I responded to a post with a post
of my own describing my life and how it had been affected by being fat.
I bring it back to you now.  I come to it with a fresh perspective, an
edited perspective.  I have finally gone over the 100 pound hurdle, have
shed a small woman from my body with a mere half woman to go.

I am the same, don't be afraid...and yet...I am totally different so
watch for me in your mirrors.  The reaction to this metamorphasis has
been interesting from the fly on the wall perspective.  It has been
largely a positive one but I knew I had had it right October 23, 1997.
A person, when said person is quite large, is defined by that largeness
even if that is not the intention.  It becomes who we are and who you
see us as.  It's ok to recognize that I was fat and ok to see that there
is a lot less of it now.  To do so is to recognize more than one kind of
transformation.

I'm not done here with weight loss so consider this a "to be
continued..."   To bring this post back is a way of saying goodbye to
the steel trap I was under at the time.  Thanks for indulging me.

Maria
*******************************************************


Subject:
        Spoon: My Life As a Fat Woman
   Date:  Thu, 23 Oct 1997 23:20:29 +0900

   I was born to my mother as a small baby, weighing in at just over
five
pounds.  In all of the family lore I am historically known as the most
beautiful baby that was ever born.  Letters of confirmation from my
mother are available upon request.

By the time I became aware of myself and my body, I was aware that I was

fat.  I was teased because my mother packed liverwurst sandwiches for me

for lunch...it was rumored that I ate dog food.  I remember this as the
first, but not the last time I felt a deep sense of shame for what I
ate.

When I was eight years old my mother put me on a diet.  This diet
consisted of me getting less of the same food that everyone else was
eating, which was, at the time, bean soup and mashed potatoes due to
economics.  I remember this as the first, but not the last time I felt
deprived of enough food to be comfortable and of the self-loathing
because I apparently needed more food than other people.

Throughout my elementary school years I was very aware of my size and in

an effort to compensate for that fact I developed a stunning sense of
humor.  Much of it centered on making fun of myself before other people
could beat me to it but it seemed to make others forget that I took up
more space, I stood more ground, I was....more.  I took my lack of
physical beauty into stride and set about making the world laugh.  I
spent time alone contemplating the world and somehow knew I should be
alone, I came to believe I deserved it.

Some would be amazed at what I felt I deserved simply because of my
size.  I can't justify my feelings and emotions of the time, I can only
now report them.

When I was friendless, chosen last for the team, I knew it was because I

was fat.  When I was sexually abused, I knew it was because I was fat.
When I was belittled and scorned by my step-father, I knew it was
because I was fat.  I heard all the fatty-fatty jokes, I felt the stares

and sat shame-faced at the lunch table, feeling I *deserved* every
comment, because I was fat.

Most people say they would love to return to high school.  I wouldn't do

that to myself again for anything in this world.  In high school I saw
just how bad it could be, just how cruel people could feel justified to
be.  My friend and I were barked at every school day for four years as
we walked into the building.  A long line of boys would wait for us,
barking and taunting *EVERY* day.  They were never not there.  They
occasionally threw pine cones at us as they sang in their canine
chorus.  Once in English class, one of the pretty, popular girls was
talking to the teacher.  In a whisper of awe and horror she told
the teacher that a girl had been stoned just before class that day.  It
was my friend...not for the first time...not for the last...and
sometimes it was me.  These were my high school years.

Because the boys would also line up at lunch, I often didn't eat any
lunch.  To be able to say it, to prove something, I would often not eat
breakfast either.  And even if I didn't eat all day I would feel guilt
at the first morsel I put in my mouth for the day.
On the occasions I did have lunch people would stare and laugh
to see what I ate, I and my friend.

I made it, though.  I came out of high school intact.  I was married by
the time I graduated and funnily enough, there were people who were
shocked a fat girl could get a date, let alone get married.  I never
questioned that mentality.  I sort of felt I had lucked out, that I had
deserved less.

As a young wife I followed my mother's example of not buying cookies and

crackers and snacks.  If we ate them, we had to go out and get them.  I
didn't buy them to keep in the house until I had been married for about
fifteen years.  I do sometimes, now, buy snack items like some others do

so casually.  My babies ate fruit, I didn't buy baby snacks and I cooked
food
from scratch, relying very little on pre-packaged food.  I am not sure
exactly why this had so little effect on my weight, as in why I didn't
lose.  I'm not a lazy person, I enjoy being out and about.  I have lost
weight three times, weight of a goodly proportion.  I have gained it and

more every time. I did not set out to gain it back.

I have kept the feelings of unworthiness due to being fat.  I have not
kept them by conscience means any more than I kept the fat by conscience

means.

Some things I have learned in 34 years of being fat are quite simple.

*Fat people carry their problem on their body like a bloated badge.  If
you are a wife beater, I will not know.  If you are an alcoholic, I will

not know within seconds of meeting you.  If you are a gambler, a
druggie, a slut, a child abuser, an asshole, a racist, a kleptomaniac
or many other of society's problem children, I will not know to only
look at you.

Think of your worst shame and ask yourself if you would like to plant it

on your body for all and sundry to view and witness and jeer at.  Think
about wearing a scarlett letter on your body, only to find it *is* your
body that is the symbol.

*Fat people have to take in a certain amount of food every day to
survive, just like anyone else.  If I were an alcoholic, a drug addict,
or a gambleholic, I could quit, theoretically never to take any of it
into my body again, at the very least not having to for human survival.
How many of those addicts would be able to stop their addcitions if they

had to consume a certain quantity of it just to survive?  Could they
quit if their addiction were advertised in new and improved and
wonderful varieties in every direction they looked?  Could they quit if
they had to prepare daily doses of their addiction for three others in
their family?  Or shop for the means by which to prepare them?

*Fat people have to work so much harder to exercise that it sometimes
seems fruitless.  Imagine exercising with several bags of sand tied to
your body and think about jumping around with them on, walking around
with them on, going to aerobics and riding a bike with them on.  Simply
put, a whole lot more physical effort is involved solely due to the
nature of exercising with an extra 30, or 60, 120, or even 300 pounds of

weight seemingly permanently tied to your very soul, as well as the
physical form.

*Fat people are not supposed to ask for help to lose weight.  We are
somehow supposed to be able to stand tall and strong against all forces
of temptation because it is our body, our temple.  There are acceptable
means of medical assistance for people with drug and alcohol addictions,

but an overweight person asking for medical assistance should buck up,
suck it in and just employ that will power we so lazily refuse to put
out.  If only we tried harder, longer, stronger we would achieve our
goal.  Anything less is a sign of laziness.

I often wonder if the people who piously give this rhetoric could act in

the manner that they expect fat people to act in.

If it was as simple a matter as some people think, I'd have done it by
now.  I have not done this on purpose or chosen it.  If I...the one who
suffers with this...has no answer, how can people who do not know how it

feels?  Who have not lived in this situation?  As with most things in
life, it is very easy to sit on the other side of the room and give
advice.

My experience as a fat woman isn't likely to end any time soon.  I am so

dead-set against the aspect of failure, that I haven't attempted weight
loss for about six years now.  I don't expect anyone to feel sorry for
me and I don't ask for understanding anymore.  The people who love me
and know me know I am so much more than my weight.  The general public
will still view me as a woman who has gone sour, gone bad, let herself
go.  They will see the rolls and the double chin and the slower gait.
They will miss the love and patience, the mother of two.  They will miss

the friend, the lover, the wanna-be singer, the poet, the philosopher.
They will miss the humor and the spark of who I am.

It wouldn't be the first time, and I doubt the last, someone missed who
I am.

Maria