Talking to a friend recently about just this topic, I realized that for someone who has had the challenge of obesity for over twenty years, I am the one who understands it the least. My soul is tangled in its web as well as so much of my world--my religious culture, my family culture, my professional dreams, my hopes for a family, my real, authentic life. My weight is the harbinger of the toxic sludge that occupies my soul and sears these words into my core each day.
I am not beautiful.
I am not enough.
I am ugly.
I am a fat.
And because of those words, I must cower in shame and fear. I cannot live the life I want. My dreams will not come true. I must not hope.
Because I am not enough.
Who could love this body? It houses a soul, a heart, a spirit that I like, but most days I feel people can't see those parts of me. Most days, I cannot see those parts of me.
I have believed the lies. I have soaked them in, dredged my heart in their black words, and marinated my soul in their flagellations until they have become the adamantine center of my soul.
These are the words that I let define me. These are the words that are my truth. These are the words that birth my sorrows and my shame.
Maybe if I finally say these words, I can loosen their grip on my life.