Friends, let’s take moment today to reflect on the “f” word. You know the one. We use it selectively, dance around it, try to use cute alternatives to replace it, and never ever use it when speaking to our mothers. The word I’m describing is “fat”. Ready for the second part to this? Here we go; I. Am. Fat.
Now, once you’ve finished gasping and before you all reach out to remind me of my redeeming qualities and insist that I am definitely not “fat”, let me stop you. The truth is, I don’t want your sympathy. This post isn’t for attention, it’s not meant to make you feel bad for me, or for you to lie to me about how I’m not fat and feed me some line about being big boned and well-proportioned with a pretty face. Nah, that’s not what this is at all. I’m simply stating a fact.
Check it out; “fat” is an adjective. I am not thin, nor slender, I'm not even average in size for that matter, so what else does that leave? I’ll give you a hint; it’s three letters and rhymes with cat… Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat. Whew that felt good! Now that we’ve established that, let me throw out a couple other things; I am tall, I am smart, I am fair skinned, I am brunette, I am sassy, and sometimes I am funny (or at least I think so). Do you see where I’m going with this?
The word “fat” doesn’t have to be offensive and really shouldn’t be. When we choose to guard ourselves from the word, treat it as some vile thing, and only bring it out to use in an insulting manner do we give it power. Start treating it as a descriptor (as it’s meant to be) instead of a putdown and you might see it in a completely different light.
Moral of the story is this; words only have as much power as we choose to give them. I am fat, and that’s a statement of fact. And while I may be fat, I am so much more than just that.