{"id":3685,"date":"2016-03-17T03:03:36","date_gmt":"2016-03-16T21:33:36","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=3685"},"modified":"2016-03-17T03:03:36","modified_gmt":"2016-03-16T21:33:36","slug":"fat-shaming-trauma-body-positivity-weight-loss-motivation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=3685","title":{"rendered":"I Am Fat Because My Body Houses All My Trauma"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Y<\/span>esterday while scrolling through my <\/p>Instagram <\/span><\/a>feed I came across a recent picture of mine that was clicked after a post-Diwali family lunch. In it I was wearing a black skin-fit top and a flowy wraparound orange skirt. I was surrounded by my cousins, all looking happy. And I looked fat. It\u2019s the only thing I could see. How my arm fat was dangling. How my love-handles were bulging. How out of proportion my entire body was. In short, I look <\/span>ugly<\/span><\/a>. <\/span>\n\nI was annoyed at the wrong, unflattering angle at which the picture was clicked. Maybe I shouldn\u2019t have sat in the front. Maybe I shouldn\u2019t have worn that top at all. I couldn\u2019t stand to look at the picture so I put the phone down. Went to my weighing machine, stood on it, and forced myself to look at the reading. The <\/span>weight <\/span><\/a>was no more than it was the day before. Or the week before. Or the month before even. <\/span>\n\nFor as long as I can remember, I have been <\/span>fat<\/span><\/a>. Everyone I know has tried to make me lose weight. From loved ones to strangers, everyone has made my body the subject of any conversation. At my grandmother\u2019s funeral a distant relative asked me to buy a skipping rope. \u201cJumping will help you lose weight.\u201d At a cousin\u2019s <\/span>wedding<\/span><\/a>, her father-in-law \u2013 who I was meeting for the first time \u2013 told my father, in front an entire wedding party, that he should make me do <\/span>yoga<\/span><\/a>. Manjiri should join the gym; Manjiri should go for a run. And I did all of that. But nothing worked. <\/span>\n\nBut then in June of last year, I started working on losing my weight for health reasons. A medical report had sent me into a complete state of panic, the <\/span>doctor <\/span><\/a>said I need to lose weight or there will be consequences. My hypochondria was triggered and I spent the whole year working out as much as I could, and eating well. I managed to lose some weight and for a fraction of a second, I felt good about that. But my weight loss has since plateaued. <\/span>\n

I was surrounded by my cousins, all looking happy. And I looked fat. It\u2019s the only thing I could see.<\/blockquote>\nAnd I am, once again, uncomfortable within my skin. I have had a long and enduring relationship with my <\/span>body<\/span><\/a>. I have always been made fun of because of it. Some friends from my colony used to call me \u201cTun Tun\u201d and laugh, and I\u2019d join them, even though all I\u2019d want to do was cry. <\/span>\n\nI was always told that my eating habits, my lack of <\/span>exercise<\/span><\/a>, and my lack of respect for my body have led to this. And it was said with such conviction, such loathing, I couldn\u2019t help but agree. When the world continues to throw hatred and neglect at you, you internalise it. And I did. As I deal with the consequences of this hatred every day, I also realise how much I am not responsible for whatever happened to me. The world is. <\/span>\n\nGrowing up, I was an active <\/span>kid<\/span><\/a>. I played a lot, from cricket to pakadkam pakadai, I swam and was good at it. I didn\u2019t really eat a lot because it interfered with my playtime. I was basically something that any \u201cnormal\u201d kid was supposed to be. <\/span>\n\nAnd yet, my body weight kept building. Much later it was discovered that it wasn\u2019t me, but my <\/span>hormones<\/span><\/a>. I had hypothyroidism. <\/span>\n\nI was put on <\/span>medication<\/span><\/a>, but I still had to do the heavy lifting if I wanted to lose the already accumulated weight. But I didn\u2019t. Over time, when it became harder dealing with the voices outside, I gave up. Once, my doctor prescribed weight-loss pills. They were expensive and all I had to do was pop them. I didn\u2019t even open the box. Whenever someone asked me about them, I\u2019d lie. A month or so later I made up some side-effects about how the pills were making me feel. I could never understand why I was doing what I was doing. I am not sure if I\u2019d have lost weight by taking them, but surely there was no harm, right? <\/span>\n
Once, my doctor prescribed weight-loss pills. They were expensive and all I had to do was pop them. I didn\u2019t even open the box.<\/blockquote>\nI went on living my life the way it was. Fearing doctor visits because they\u2019d include standing on the weighing scale, or shopping for clothes because my small town didn\u2019t offer much in <\/span>plus size<\/span><\/a> and going to the tailor always meant judgmental glances from them. <\/span>\n\nEven though these things were traumatic, I was never motivated to keep up and I wondered why. It has taken me a lot of time to realise that I didn\u2019t have any real reasons to lose weight. Because I had already lost my battle with body hatred, I never thought that my body could ever be considered <\/span>beautiful<\/span><\/a>. I was constantly being told that I needed to lose weight to look good, to find a boyfriend, to be accepted. And while all these things mattered, they were also extremely hurtful. Staying fat was probably my body\u2019s rebellion against the society that so desperately wanted to change me. <\/span>\n\nMy body has been a vault that stores all my traumas. It came up during one of my therapy sessions, but it has taken a few years to sink in that I am fat because my fat has granted me, for the lack of a better word, a <\/span>privilege <\/span><\/a>to be invisible. I grew up holding within myself a lot of secrets. I was raped as a child for few years, by a few men. And I didn\u2019t know what it was, or how to process it, so I kept it to myself. I kept chewing on my tragedies, kept swallowing them, and my body kept getting bigger and bigger. \u00a0<\/span>\n\nI often go back to a poem called \u201cRice\u201d by Chun Yang Hee that I read in Helen Oyeyemi\u2019s book \u201cWhat\u2019s Not Yours Is Not Yours\u201d. <\/span>\n\nChew on your feelings that are cornered like you would chew on rice.<\/span><\/i>\n<\/span><\/i>Anyway, life is something that you need to digest.<\/span><\/i>\n
My weight loss isn\u2019t just me shedding my body fat. It is me letting go of my past traumas. It is me emptying my body of hurt and pain and replacing it with love and care.<\/blockquote>\nIt has been 30 years of me digesting life. It has been 30 years of me chewing on my feelings. I couldn\u2019t be anything but fat. My body kept making way for any hurt, any tragedy that life threw my way. And I absorbed it, like food, like <\/span>sadness<\/span><\/a>. It has been the nutrition my poetry needed. Or maybe it was something I told myself. It was easier to be this than anything else. With people dumping their judgments on me and blaming me, it was easier to agree with them, and live miserably, finding small moments of acceptance in that. \u00a0<\/span>\n\nBut for the past year or so I have been trying to fight this urge to surrender. I managed to lose whatever weight I could because this time I had to do it, or watch myself die slowly and painfully. When Jeanette Winterson said, \u201cCreativity is on the side of health,\u201d I believed her. I got moving. I understood that life, even with moments of intense <\/span>pain <\/span><\/a>and sadness, was worth living. And it has been a radical learning. <\/span>\n\nEven though I keep going back to the body hatred I know so well, like I did when I looked at that picture, I also correct myself. This time I am doing it for myself. This time I can be fat but healthy. They aren\u2019t mutually exclusive, and so I work hard. When I work-out I feel <\/span>happy<\/span><\/a>. When I eat well, I can think clearly, I have the energy to do things that usually make me anxious and overwhelm me. I went to Finland alone this year, and managed to survive it, even enjoy it. The beginning of 2017 I would not have been able to do that. I would have probably cancelled my trip the very last moment like I have cancelled all my other solo trips. <\/span>\n\nMy weight loss isn\u2019t just me shedding my body fat. It is me letting go of my past traumas. It is me emptying my body of hurt and pain and replacing it with <\/span>love <\/span><\/a>and care. And it is why fat or thin doesn\u2019t matter, so long as I know what fills my body is not someone I hate. \u00a0<\/span>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I was constantly being told that I needed to lose weight to look good, to find a boyfriend, to be accepted. But staying fat was probably my body\u2019s rebellion against the society that so desperately wanted to change me. My body is a vault that stores all my secrets, all my traumas.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":185,"featured_media":3686,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[40],"tags":[733,495,6690,6907,6908,6196,2519,4774,4218,6016,2699,6909,6910],"class_list":["post-3685","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-first-person","tag-body-positivity","tag-doctor","tag-fat","tag-motivation","tag-plus-size","tag-poetry","tag-self-love","tag-society","tag-therapy","tag-tragedy","tag-trauma","tag-weight-gain","tag-weight-loss"],"yoast_head":"\nI Am Fat Because My Body Houses All My Trauma<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"I was constantly being told that I needed to lose weight to look good, to find a boyfriend, to be accepted. 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