Being Fat is Uncomfortable

Fat acceptance is encouraging laziness and setting low standards for yourself.

Photo by Fuu J on Unsplash

For the record, I’m not ‘fat’ anymore. I have a small little pot belly, but nothing that couldn’t be solved within a month of eating less McDonald’s and refusing “bunny snacks” from my husband (apparently I resemble a bunny when I eat, so he calls chips and chocolates “bunny snacks”). He insists on buying them for me, particularly during my period.

I have a very voluptuous booty, and always have. I’m not the least bit bothered by anything with my body so much so as to use negative self talk in my head. I have a much kinder relationship to my weight these days.

But it didn’t use to be this way.

I’ve never been as heavy as I was during 2016–2018. 2016 was the worst. That was at the height of my panic disorder, and my way of solving a panic attack was to eat. So I constantly ate, since I think it gave my body something to do other than send me into an emotional spiral at random intervals throughout the day.

Also, I would get super lightheaded during a panic attack, which convinced me my blood sugar was low, so I’d eat to bring it back to normal.

I was anything but normal back then, though.