The last time we spoke, I was telling you all about my latest read, Fattily Ever After written by Stephanie Yeboah. To read my review in full, click here.
Stephanie’s transparency inspired me to share my own journey as a fat black woman. In the last blog post, I told you what my definition of Fattily Ever After was. I described it as “self-love, and living a happy, full life with all the flab, all the belly fat and all the chub rub!” One thing Fattily Ever after did for me, was to make me reflect on whether I had reached that point of full self-love and acceptance.
Keep reading to find out.
I was born in the late 80s to a Ghanaian family. My mother claims that out of all her kids, I was her smallest baby weighing a measly 6lbs at birth. But I can honestly tell you that I really don’t know what happened after that, because suddenly I was 6 or 7 years old, at primary school, and weighing more than the rest of my class! And for as long as I can remember after that, your girl has always been a little thick in the waist (but cute in the face!)
Although somewhat bigger than my friends, I can’t really say I was FAT fat. Just a little chubby. I was still healthy, participated in PE with no problems, and ate my fruit and veg. I knew nothing about BMI charts, obesity or disordered eating. In short, I had a pretty normal childhood.
Download your 200 Instagram Highlights Cover!
As I grew into a teen, I carried my extra weight with me. My awareness of my fatness increased. I remember getting measured for secondary school uniform and having to get my PE shorts, shirts, skirt, blazer all a little bigger. My aunt who was in her mid-twenties at the time was passing me down her UK size 10-12 clothes. I was only eleven or twelve years old. I was already being measured at M&S for adult bra sizes. I was getting bigger with no hint of slowing down in sight! Did my body care that I was not feeding it junk? Nope!
I went to a predominantly white secondary school somewhere on the London-Kent border (read the full story here). Not only was I one of a handful of black students in the entire school, I was also overweight! Imagine trying to blend in, in an environment like that? For the most part, my secondary school experience was OK, and I did use my big mouth to defend myself a lot, but I still got teased here and there. “Fatty”, “African Bubu” and “shopping bags” (yes, I was already very busty by then) were some of the boys’ favourite insults.
You may also want to read: The Code Switch Part II
You may also want to read: Book Review | Confessions of a Frustrated Millenial
Those comments didn’t impact me more than the insensitive comments from my family. “Maddie, are you eating again?” “You see, that’s why you’re FAT”, and “you really should lose some weight”, were some of the “well-meaning” pieces of advice that were thrown at me constantly. I have an uncle in Ghana, who once asked the twenty-something year old me, “even you, what is your name again?”.
Why would he not know his own niece’s name? you may ask. Well, that was because he had always just referred to me as obolobo! (a Twi word for fat). When I think about it now, it’s actually quite amusing. But not back then. My family’s behaviour led to a tumble in my self-esteem, which I struggled to pick up again until my early to mid-twenties.
Although I put up a good front for most of it, what most didn’t know, was that I went on my first diet at 15. It was a normal calorie counting diet. I halved my food portions and skipped all sweet treats. It only lasted two weeks, before I had to admit to myself that I was hungry and miserable. But it didn’t end there. Until my early twenties I began and abandoned a succession of diets: The Atkins Diet, Herbalife, The Special K Diet (the worst!), the two-week detox…it went on and on. At around 17, I joined the gym and became somewhat obsessed with it until my second year of uni. Still, my body rebelled. I remember the despair I felt in sixth form as my then size 14 body swelled to a size 16.
Being fat in an African household is a conversation we’ll need to have one day. The amount of food shaming I went through – tantamount to bullying 😖😖😖😖
— M 👩🏿💻✒ THE COPYWRITING BLUEPRINT (@madelinewblogs) June 11, 2020
Sometime in my last year of uni, after yet another failed diet, and nights spent crying into my pillow (because I was a size 18 and my frustration was through the roof by that point!) I had a breakdown in front of a good friend of mine. I remember the baffled look on her face, wondering how the offer of a piece of chocolate from the pack she was holding could lead to a messy episode of tears, loud sobs and snot. After I’d calmed down and confessed my six or seven-year long war against my body, her response was, “but Madeline, why are you torturing yourself? Life is too short. Be happy”. There was no long, winding sermon about how I should love myself, and how I was beautiful regardless. Her response was succinct and real. I guess it was the lack of flattery that made me quickly sober up. She was right. For how long would I waste life trying to attain a goal that kept running further and further from me?
That day marked the end of all fad diets for me.
Fast forward to the present day, can I say I have found my Fattily Ever After? Hmmm, as it’s a journey and not a destination, I can say I am 90% there. I still deal with “ugly” days every so often (like most!) and sometimes need my husband to affirm me. But the rise of plus-sized fashion influencers, the increased access to fashionable plus-sized clothing, and sound knowledge of just how much of a badass I actually am have really helped. Yes, this fat black woman gets wiser, and more confident with every passing year!
Let’s talk. Have you overcome any personal battles, especially against your perception of self? I am keen to know. Please comment below.
