I’ve been trying my hand at ‘influencer’-y things (ugh) and trying to get over my massive amounts of self-consciousness. It feels futile; I’m not influential. My 75 followers probably don’t want any influencing. It’s just kind of a silly experiment. Especially since I can’t go out and see things and take pictures in cool locations, considering the current plague going on.
But one of my favorite Instagram users mentioned that they were self-conscious sitting down. It’s a challenge to be sure. I must’ve taken like forty pictures and these were the only three I was happy with. But also I can see what I actually look like — overcoming the huge disconnect between my mind and body (the dysmorphia is real), as well as being a plus-size person in front of the camera. It’s interesting to challenge myself this way. I’m pretty good at writing, and I’ve always been good at moving my body (I’ve got a black belt in karate for Pete’s sake), but looking at myself and being in front of a camera is a completely different hurdle.
But I kind of like it.
I kind of feel good about this, flub and thunder thighs and all. I’m never going to be a size two. That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t celebrate my body for all the gifts it’s given me. I’m cute. I’m pudgy. I sit down and look okay doing it!
The thing I’ve gleaned from this more than anything else is just keeping trying things that scare you. I was terrified of posting these pictures to my instagram, but it all worked out in the end.
Try something terrifying. Try something that makes you a little apprehensive. It’ll work out, I promise.
Last weekend I went out to the far side of town for a friend’s birthday, and it was delightful. I was so worried about posting some of these pictures, but I had such a good time it seemed silly not to share.
I’m looking pretty big in these pics. But I’m also looking pretty happy? Sometimes it’s still shocking to me that the two can happen at the same time.
I’m going to be brutally honest; there’s something utterly devastating and soul-crushing about being plus size in a world that idolizes thinness. That’s just a fact. Right now I’m sitting pretty at a size 20-22 jean and a 3X shirt and sometimes don’t want to leave the house because of the potential to be seen by some jerk who thinks they know what’s best for me. Los Angeles, California (and really the whole world?), just doesn’t have the infrastructure and chutzpah to love someone like me. Further still, I grew up in San Francisco which, while a notoriously liberal and accepting culture, definitely has no problem shaming fat people for being ‘unhealthy’. (The whole city is proof positive that hating fat people is the last remaining ‘acceptable’ prejudice. Yikes, right?)
And I’m one of the lucky ones; the vitriol infini-fats, and plus size POC and GNC people suffer is beyond cruel. If you squint I’m an ‘hourglass’ shape, (and I’m not going to lie, my face is super cute which doesn’t hurt). I can fake being thinner than I am in pictures. If I stick with above the waist selfies or angle things just right I look more conventionally attractive.