Tatum Savage

Everyone body-shamed me growing up. Absolutely everyone. Movies and TV shows make it seem like it’s one or two really rotten kids that bully the fat ones, but that’s not really what it’s like. It’s not limited to one or two little kids that don’t know any better. It’s so much worse than that.

It’s everyone, it’s everywhere, it’s everything. I was body shamed at home, by my parents, brothers, and extended family. I was body shamed at school by teachers, friends, and other students. I was body shamed and hyper sexualized by creepy men at work. The bus stop. Clothing stores. Swimming pool. Grocery store. There wasn’t a single place that was safe or without body shaming.

Being body shamed as much as I was did a few things to me. It killed my self confidence and self esteem, of course, but it also destroyed my sense of self and my self worth. It poisoned my inner narrative, stunted my emotional and mental growth, and had me in survival mode for almost two decades.

I was told over and over again that I was fat, and because I was fat, I was not as capable as other people. My mom had me on weight watchers by the time I was 10. My grandma weighed my brothers and I every time we went to her house. At school my other fat friends and I would discuss ways to lose weight. One of them was trying Curves, the woman-only gym, with her mom. Another was consciously eating less. We were developing, growing children that believed, before we even left elementary school, that we were too fat and that we needed to change.

Can you imagine what that’s like? Can you imagine being a little kid, not understanding why there’s something wrong with you? You feel fine. You don’t think about what you look like. You’re active and happy and silly. You have lots of friends and lots of different hobbies. Then over time, you change. You shrink inside yourself.

You start believing what you’re told. You aren’t fine anymore. You don’t look fine when you look in the mirror, now you look bad, awful even. You’re fat. Fat people can’t do things. Fat people are inactive, they can’t do sports. Fat people are lazy. Fat people are unlovable. Fat people deserve the hate they get. Within 2–3 years I went from being an active, healthy, happy kid, to hating myself and believing what the people I loved told me.

When I think about this, I’ve gotta be honest, I get so fucking angry. When I was 10, being weighed weekly at my grandma’s and being handed homemade weight watchers food tracking sheets by my mom, I was really, really active.

I took swimming lessons, and went swimming with my friends every single week. I played baseball until I was 11 or 12, and was recruited for an all-star softball team. I did week-long kayaking, swimming, and soccer camps throughout my summers where I kept up with everyone just fine. I went hiking and camping with Brownies and Girl Guides every few weekends, too.

But by the time I was 15, I had stopped swimming. I was told to hate my body, so I did. I was told no one wants to see that body, so I covered it up and hid it away. I was told my body was not capable, so I stopped doing things that required a capable body. I stopped kayaking. I stopped hiking. I stopped playing baseball because fat people can’t run, and if I can’t run there’s no way I’m going to make it home. I’d be a waste of space on sports teams.

These were things I believed because my mom, grandma, brothers, teachers, friends, family, schoolmates all told me the same. It was reflected in their comments on my body and on my food choices. It was reflected in the “10 worst beach bodies” magazines that my mom always had around. It was reflected in the movies I watched, where only fat kids were victims of bullying. It was reflected in the TV I watched, with Tyra Banks telling a thin woman that she had to lose weight to model. It was preached on the Biggest Loser, every commercial in between for weight watchers, Atkins, special K, diet pills, and more.

I became exactly what everyone told me I was, because they told me that’s all that I was, and all that I could ever be. I stopped being active. I even stopped walking everywhere because I was scared of being seen as a fat, sweaty person. Everyone else’s problem with my body fundamentally changed who I was and what I was capable of. I was given no space to exist beyond what I had been labelled with.

This messaging, that some of us are born right and some of us are born wrong, is complete bullshit. This message and this idea is a suffocating cloud of toxic smoke that hurts everyone who breathes it in, not just the folks in larger bodies. You have all been poisoned by the toxic environment built by thin supremacy.

The truth is that none of us are born right or wrong. There are no good bodies or bad bodies. There is no good food or bad food. There is no right way to exercise or move your body (and the only wrong way is doing something that hurts you). Bodies are just the physical part of our being. We are so much more expansive than what we look like and this cultural obsession with thinness starves us of our potential.

Breaking free from this mentality is not easy. I’ve spent the better part of 10 years working to unlearn all the biases, the negative self talk, the morality of everything. I started by asking questions; so many questions. Why did I think I was less than? Who benefits from me feeling this way? Questioning these beliefs was uncomfortable, painful even. But the answers brought me so far on my journey to complete and utter freedom. I’m not there quite yet, but my god is it better.

I still have bad days, that’s part of being human. But I no longer feel guilt and shame for eating a fucking cookie. I don’t hate myself for simply existing. I don’t look in the mirror and pick apart every single piece of how I look. I no longer breathe in that toxic, fatphobic air, poisoning every piece of myself in the process.

I see myself for who I am now, not for how my body looks or what other people have told me I am. I refuse to be limited by the stereotypes, labels, and expectations of others. I’m not lazy, I’m wildly ambitious and hard working. I’m funny, smart, kind, sweet, loving, empathetic. I’m interesting, and I’m really clever. I’m multi-talented, and I’m capable. I’m supportive and understanding.

Every day that I step further from that environment is a day I feel more myself. I didn’t wake up one day finally being free. I took thousands of small steps, slowly changing my perception, until I finally looked back and saw how far I’d actually come.

Maybe you can’t take a big step right now, but try taking a small one. Eat a cookie and instead of feeling guilt or shame that you enjoyed something “bad”, talk to yourself about how good it tastes: how the chocolate melts in your mouth, how rich and buttery the cookie meat is!

Or move your body and relish in how good those movements feel, don’t focus on how you look sweating or how loudly you’re breathing. Just enjoy the rush of endorphins and the warm flush of blood pumping through your veins.

Take one small step today, and another small step tomorrow. In no time you’ll be uncontained, looking back at the cage you broke from, wondering how it was ever strong enough to hold you inside in the first place.