Throughout my life, I’ve carried the weight of being told that my size was a plague. It may sound extreme, but that’s precisely how I felt. Unlike the narrative of transitioning from a skinny child to a larger adult, I’ve always been a big girl. This reality wasn’t just a self-perception; it echoed in the comments and unsolicited advice I received daily. 

The journey of my life has been overshadowed by ominous predictions about my health due to my weight. My mother enrolled me in every available program, exposing me to adult discussions about weight-related issues. As a Gen X kid, there were no programs designed for children like me. I found myself surrounded by adults grappling with adult problems, questioned about my eating habits while my brother’s size was never a topic of discussion. 

This relentless scrutiny led to my withdrawal, feeling unworthy of love. Growing up amidst abuse, I not only had to bear that burden but also be reminded of my repulsiveness to society. Body positivity was nonexistent; instead, toxic body shame permeated my existence. 

The fat phobia in America was camouflaged in false health concerns. If genuine health was the focus, the emphasis would have been on ensuring that a young Black girl felt safe and acknowledged in a world that often deemed her undesirable. To be Black, a girl, and fat was a harsh reality. 

What compounded the pain was the lack of consideration for my feelings. Amidst the chaos in my household, my weight was far from the top of my concerns. I never knew what might disturb my sleep—my inebriated mother dragging me out of bed to find my father, waking up to my mom’s screams from the abuse she endured, or becoming the outlet for her frustrations on my little big body. 

My emotions were consistently dismissed by the same people claiming concern for my health. The hypocrisy reverberated loudly, and the pain was palpable. 

By the age of 10, filled with internalized rage and pain, I attempted to escape by swallowing a bottle of pills. I hoped to fall asleep and cease being a burden to my family and society. My brother discovered me and called an ambulance. While waiting for my parents at the hospital, the doctor, instead of addressing the emotional turmoil, emphasized that I needed to lose weight, even suggesting drastic measures like cutting off half of my stomach to make me skinny. A child who attempted self-harm was met with a misguided focus on weight. 

Year after year felt like an unending struggle. I became numb and silent. 

It wasn’t until I started traveling and saw myself through the eyes of non-Americans that I began to glimpse my beauty. A friend once told me it was time to explore the world. 

I planned my first trip to London, inspired by British comedy and the movie Notting Hill. Landing in Great Britain, the world looked different. Coming from the Midwest, where everything seemed black and white, London presented a vibrant tapestry of colors—Asian, East Indian, African, Caribbean. Beyond that, they saw me. Walking through the city, I felt awe-struck. Despite facing overt racism, I was openly flirted with for the first time in my life. Around 23, the winks, smiles, and flirting were intoxicating. Men were even asking for my number—it felt surreal. 

Kimora Lee once said, “Go where you were loved,” reflecting on her journey of finding acceptance in Paris. Similarly, I found mine in London. It’s disheartening that two St. Louis ladies had to travel so far to perceive life differently. During London’s fashion week, I hopped on a train to Paris, discovering that it wasn’t just African and Caribbean men finding me attractive. French, German, and others sought me out and flirted. It was overwhelming. 

While I don’t determine my worth by the gaze of a man, it shattered the myths and lies I had been fed. To be clear, men in America love curvy girls too, but back then, they lacked the courage to openly express their affections. 

Seeing myself through the eyes of others allowed me to dismantle internalized beliefs, expanding my reflection. The shame subsided, my heart opened, and I began to defy gravity. 

I had truly found the greatest love—it had been waiting to meet me. My love and I continued to travel the world, basking in open skies, swimming in countless seas, building the confidence and understanding that I was not only worthy of love but that I am love. 

How has your view of yourself changed throughout your life?