The truth about being "fat"...from a girl who has always been considered it

Stick to what you know. 

I think I have always approached my writing this way. But constantly sticking to things that didn't put me too far out there. Things that didn't show too much of me.

Stick to what you know. 

I finally get it. You aren't supposed to stick to the things that are easy, or the things that feel good to write about. You're supposed to write about the hard stuff.
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If there is one thing I know. It's being curvy.

When I was younger, it defined me. Not that I meant for it to, but when girls on the playground are laughing at you because you have a belly, or telling you that you aren't pretty because your larger than them. It inevitably defines you. I grew up around a constant string of questions.

Why her? Why is she the one bullied?
Why her? Why does she have the health issues?
Why her?

There were years at a time that I remember thinking I was so big, and looking back? I just don't see it. But I was always considered it.

There came a time in my life where I just gave up. I decided that this was who I was, and I did what I could with what I had. Yeah, I mean I did what I could with my body. But more so, I did what I could with my brain, with my quick wit, and with my perseverance. The truth is, growing up fat didn't enable me to be lazy, or to be unmotivated. It caused me to be self conscious, yes. It caused me to be insecure? Of course.

But it never stopped me from doing anything.

Now, I am 27 years old, and there are probably still people who would consider me "fat". And that is okay.  The interesting thing is, that when I get up in the morning, and I leave the house, I see so much more than my body in the mirror. I see a story.

My body tells a story, and it's not one that most people will take the time to get to know.

They'll never know that I see my love handles as something to love, and my smile as something to cherish. They'll never look deeper to see that my eyes are a token of peace, and my height and strength as a sign of perseverance. I will continue to see the softness of my features and imagine the youth I still carry with me, I'll look down at my hands and remember my motivation. More than that though, most people will never know the dedication represented in my mouth, or the hope I hold in my heart.

In some ways, the hardest part of being "fat" isn't even the side glances or hateful words. The hardest part is acceptance. It is accepting your story, knowing that no one can change it. Most importantly though, and something I just recently became aware of, was loving that acceptance, but not allowing yourself to find comfort in it.

So as I have begun my journey towards a healthier lifestyle, I don't wish to "lose weight" or "erase my canvas and start new". No, I don't feel bitterness towards my body in the way that it curves, those curves are a formation of my life, hardships and all.

I am on a journey, but I am transforming more than just my body. I am adjusting my expectations everyday. I am transforming my perception of acceptance. At the end of the day, the story my body tells will have a past, but much like in life, I realize it can also have a future. And I can do it for me.

It is possible to love your body as fat. And its possible to love it as fit. It is your story.
It transforms in all the ways you see it, not how the outside world does.

What story does your body tell?

Weight off my Shoulders

Or weight on my shoulders, depending how you look at it. For those of you who have never read my work before, my name is Chelsea. I got into writing at a young age, but didn't discover my joy in it until much later in life.

So often I find my writing on my blog surrounding the same things.

We are all, constantly, throughout our life, trying to figure out who the hell we are. Some days are better than others, am I right? Some days we know who we are and where we are going, and some days we just look around wondering how the hell we ended up so lost and confused. So this blog has always been about my journey, generalized.

This year I made the decision that I had things I wanted to change in my life. I knew it wouldn't be easy. Hell, I didn't even know if it was possible. I mean I have been doing the same thing for years now, and coming out with the same results -- which is the definition of insanity right? I have refused to believe that I had any control over things in my life, and the situations that I find myself in. Because, if I admitted that, then I would have to admit that I was not doing everything I could to be happy. But this year, I finally admitted it to myself, and have taken steps towards change.

It is easy to tell someone what it means to be a changed person, but its much different when you are the person doing the changing to understand what it means for you, individually to be changed. Everyone evolves in different ways, the pressure they are placed under transforms them into different gems. We all move at different paces, and are motivated in different forms. This is what makes us all so unique. This is what makes us all capable of our own form of greatness.

I can tell you right now that there are a lot of things I am realizing about how I have subconsciously dealt with situations both past and present, but that is a story for another time, and not the reason I am here.

My point with this post is that as I was talking to a friend the other day, I had mentioned it had been a while since I had written. Being a writer herself, she took interest in the reasons I hadn't. My response was simply that I felt I wasn't in a place to make advice to someone about how to reach their goals, or how to be who they were, or how to evolve; if I, myself, didn't have it figured out.

She gave me the best advice.

You're not supposed to write about the destination, you're supposed to write about the journey. With that, I realized that even if I wasn't where I wanted to be, I still had a story to tell, I still had lessons to share, and I still had a voice to be heard.

With that, I hereby commit to never forgetting that we are all just trying to tell our story, one way or another. And the way I express mine, may be different than the way you express yours. My story is more than just the fire in my eyes when I feel passionate about something or someone. It is more than passing glances, and meaningless phrases. My story is in the way I move about life, carefully calculating every move, hidden spontaneity buried deep inside. My story is told by my actions, it is told by my words, it is told by my hardened exterior softened only by my fingers gently tapping a keyboard.

My story will be heard. Maybe it will be passed down. 

Maybe it will be told in deep conversations with the people I love. 

Maybe it will be interpreted from words sprawled out on a screen. 

Maybe it will be told in narratives around a Family Christmas that I have long since attended.

How will you tell yours?