An Open Letter To The Girl Who Oinked At Me

[Content note: fat shaming, self-harm, anxiety, disordered eating]

To "the girl who oinked at me in South Kensington tube station",

I'm sorry for the impersonal greeting there, but obviously, I don't know your name. I suppose I could call you "the vicious, spiteful little fucker", but that hardly narrows it down, does it? Still, it's more polite than the way you greeted me yesterday - by walking right up to me, oinking in my face and laughing with your friends as you walked off.

I get it, I'm fat. Fat people are stereotyped as pigs. Ha ha.

Did you happen to notice that I had my husband and four year old son with me? You may not have done because they were a little bit in front of me, and you no doubt had your hands full trying to manage walking and preparing for your hilarious joke at the same time. I know, these things are hard when you have the intellect of a gnat. Anyway, when we had our oh-so-funny run-in, I was on my way home from spending an afternoon out at a museum with my husband and our youngest son. It was the first time in six months that I'd felt brave enough to go anywhere on a train, and it was the first time in more than a year that I'd been able to take my son somewhere like that.

I find these things hard to do because of arseholes like you. To you, it's just a quick joke, "Ha ha, let's make fun of the fatty!", but to me it's another three weeks stuck at home because I don't want to risk getting similar abuse.

Did you happen to notice the scars on my arms? They're from cutting myself; I started at the age of 12 because of bullies like you.

Did you see that I was staring at the ground, not daring to look up in case I saw someone looking disgusted at me? I kinda think you did. It would explain why you got so close, just so I would be sure to realise that it was me you were directing your abuse towards.

I'm sure you're thinking "It was just a joke, how could I know any of this stuff? I was just messing around!" You couldn't have known that I frequently have days of starving myself, of not eating for 36 hours at a time, as a punishment for anything and everything. You couldn't have known that your 'silly little joke' would cause me to have a panic attack on the train. And that's entirely the fucking point. When you do things like this, you don't know what the other person is going through; you don't know what your little joke might do to someone, SO DON'T DO IT.

The thing is though, the fact that I'm fat was the only thing that you knew about me, and it is by far the least important. I am also an excellent baker. I enjoy crocheting, even if I'm not very good yet. I watch It's A Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve with my husband and I cry like a baby every time. I have several first edition Stephen King books. I am a wife, and a mother, and I am loved. I am human.

And now, you obnoxious privileged brat, I'm going to let go. I refuse to give you any more space in my head, and I won't let you push me into staying home for weeks. I am entitled to exist in a public space even though I am fat.

I hope one day you look back on what you did with shame.

Yours sincerely,

Feminist Cupcakes

Being Kind To Myself.

*Content note: fat shaming, body hatred, disordered eating, self-harm, ableist language*

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This is a difficult post for me to write. I'm potentially opening myself up to a lot of abuse here, but I think it's worth the risk.

I've had problems with self-esteem for as long as I can remember, probably because I've been fat for as long as I can remember. All my life the people around me have made a big deal out of my weight and their own. My mum has three sisters who were fat* when I was growing up and I have numerous older female cousins who are also fat, and they are always talking about their weight and how to lose it. I was first taken to a doctor about my weight at seven years old; the doctor weighed me, then told me I needed to go on a diet. Whenever I did any physical activity I was praised for it because it would help me lose weight. I was teased at primary school for being fat, one boy told his friends that if he stuck me with a pin I'd pop like a balloon. On the bus on the way home from school one day some older kids got on and one sat next to me. His friend told him not to look at me ''or you'll turn into a retard." I can only imagine he meant that I was so awful to look at that he risked losing his mind from doing so. I was about 9 years old at the time, and the memory still has the power to make me cry.

At high school the bullying continued, and at twelve I started self-harming. I was already constantly lacerating myself mentally, so to do it physically was something of a relief. It stopped the hatred and anger for a while, and I found taking care of the cuts to be soothing; it felt good to do something to take care of myself for a change. When my parents found out they encouraged me not to tell any of my friends, I'm sure because they were worried about how people would treat me if they found out, but it made me feel like I had yet another thing to be ashamed of.

As I've grown older, and especially since having Adam and Jack, my weight has increased, and so have my self-image problems. I now spend long periods of time at home because I hate the looks I get from people. I've had people shout insults from cars, I've had people mutter disgusted comments as they walk past, I've had people follow me down the street screaming abuse at me just because I dare to exist in a public space while being fat.

I've recently discovered the idea of body positivity and fat acceptance, and the revolutionary idea that being fat does not make me less valuable as a person. That sounds like I'm being sarcastic, but I'm serious; I have always felt like I'm worth less than 'normal people' just because I weigh more, and the idea that this wasn't true was mind-blowing for me.

Over the years I have abused my body dreadfully; I've never taken care of it because I hate it so much, and why would I take care of something I hate? I have alternately starved myself for days at a time and stuffed myself with so much food I feel ill. I've stayed awake for 36 hours as a punishment for trivial crap. I've cut myself, burned myself, punched walls hard enough to leave bruises, and I smoked for 10 years all because I hate the body I have.

I'm tired of hating myself. I'm now attempting to be kinder to myself, to try and love myself even if it's just a little bit. Whenever I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror I make a conscious effort to replace the negative thoughts with positive ones, to replace "Fuck, I look awful. I'm so disgusting." with "Fuck it, I'm fabulous." When someone compliments me I try to accept the compliment instead of dismissing it as an attempt to cheer me up, and I try to believe that the compliment is objectively true, not just something that they believe. I'm trying to eat healthier food, and move around a bit more. Not to lose weight, but because I want to be kinder to myself. I want to take care of the body I'm in, because I'm tired of punishing it for not looking exactly how I want.

If you're the kind of person who abuses people for the crime of being fat, I hope this post has made you rethink what you're doing. Trust me, there is nothing you can say to me that's worse than what I've been saying to myself, and there's no way you can punish me that's worse than the way I've been punishing myself for years. If fat shaming inspired people to lose weight I'd be a fucking size zero by now.

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*I use fat rather than overweight because I dislike the way the word 'overweight' implies that there is a single correct weight. There is obviously no negative association intended in my usage of it.

I have a Pinterest board dedicated to body acceptance here