Category: Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Are you okay with your body, even though your body is telling you it isn’t? Would I be a fraud for accepting me for who I am yet starting this journey of a new lifestyle? Would this lifestyle change be something that will help me later in life? Will I actually be “happy”?

Hi, my name is Liz – and I’m currently being evaluated to see if I am a candidate for bariatric surgery.

The weight-loss surgery.

If you guys followed the Overexposed Series since the beginning, you would know this series started out as a documentation of how I accepted my body and embraced the fatness I carry on it. I still do; I am still as confident in myself as I was while writing them, I try not to let my weight hinder me from doing my very physical job, and I don’t punish myself for being the way I am. But, there’s a whole other side of the narrative that I didn’t share. Sure, I shared some aspects of it, but there are just some things I never shared about my weight and fatness just because I always carried some shame behind it, but most importantly just because the mentality of my weight shifted, doesn’t mean my physical health got any better.

Here are some first-time things I’m sharing with you guys:

I am over 300 pounds. I’ve been over 300 pounds for the past year and a half, and when I first reached that number, I was fucking ashamed. I didn’t understand how I got to such a heavyweight. It killed me even more because I am now heavier than both my sibling and my mother, yet I am the youngest in the family. It was a scary thought and it still is; if I kept this lifestyle and felt ultimately defeated with my weight, who’s to say I wouldn’t be close to 400 pounds by the time I was 30? It’s a scary fucking thought to have.

As I’m writing this, I am also experiencing some symptoms that qualify as me having type 2 diabetes. Yeah, diabetes at 25 is fucking scary. Earlier this month, I went to see my doctor and explained to her the things my body was doing all of a sudden, and because of the family history I have (my mother is a diabetic), it’s a strong possibility I may be diabetic as well. It’s not a great feeling explaining how you feel with your mother and she tells you that’s how she felt before she was diagnosed with diabetes, and it’s definitely not a great feeling looking at your doctor’s face and it simply says it all: this bitch may be diabetic. So, I’m going to get blood work done before my appointment in January which will be quite something if I find out I have diabetes the day before my birthday.

So, she’s typing some information in her computer, the room is silent, I’m sitting on the thingymabob doctor bed thing and she simply asks me,

Have you thought about getting bariatric surgery?

This was the first time my doctor asked me that question in the years I’ve been going to see her. Half of me was shocked she even brought it up, but half of me was a little relieved that she did. I told her I’ve been thinking about it, which I have. I haven’t thought about getting this major surgery to be skinny, I honestly don’t care about “looking good to society’s standards”, I only care about my future and my physical health and I know I can’t lose 100+ pounds on my own. I don’t want to be hindered by my weight. I don’t want to have to “slow down” my life because my body simply can’t handle it. I don’t want to be in my 30’s and 40’s taking medication that people in their later years take. Honestly, I don’t want to die young of heart disease because of my weight. 

So, I asked for a referral for bariatrics.

So, in the time I’m writing this, I’ve yet to set a time and date for the evaluation, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not happening. I want to change my life; it’s not like I’m tired of being fat or the life that being fat is, I’m simply just tired of not living my life to its full potential because of my weight. I am also tired of my clothing options becoming more limited now because I’m not even considered for most “plus-size” clothing stores. I’m also tired of having aches and pains that most people in their 40’s experience; like I’m tired of feeling older than I actually am because of my weight. 

So, we’ll see what happens. The bariatrics route is a long one; I would have to attend information sessions, I would have to have the consultation/evaluation with a doctor, I would have to take numerous amounts of tests, I would have to have more therapy sessions to evaluate my mental health, I would have to attend a support group, I would have to take a medical leave for a month and a half, and then I would have to change my lifestyle. It’s not easy, and it’s not the easy route to weight-loss. It’s the last chance after trying diets and lifestyle changes a nutritionist visits all on your own and nothing has helped. 

And this is my last chance before it’s too late.

Many people throughout their lifetime truly live without knowing what the meaning of their feelings mean, and because of society wanting to make everything black-and-white, it’s even harder to admit that there have been times when what you felt wasn’t necessarily “normal”. I say normal like that because there is truly anything in life that indicates normalcy. 

Hi, my name is Liz, and I’m learning to accept the fact that my romantic attractions aren’t what I thought they were.

Is this me coming out? I don’t think I’d ever “come out” without feeling like things like this can change as time progresses. At this moment in time, I just feel differently about my romantic attractions and my sexual attractions.

Sexually speaking, I am heterosexual. I feel sexual attraction only towards the opposite sex. I’ve only had one male sexual partner in my life, but I know that I am willing to have sex with guys more so than girls, even if at this given moment I want to have absolutely no sex, which is another story for another day.

Romantically speaking, I feel like as I get older, I’m a little more flexible, or fluid in this category, and I feel like I’ve been this way for quite some time. Of course, I only feel this romantic attraction towards people once I get an emotional deep connection to them, and before anyone thinks that I just am liking everything and everyone, I don’t act upon those said attractions. I just like you because you mean a lot to me and we connect, but I am not sexually attracted to you and 95% of the time, I’m not looking to pursue a sexual relationship with you.

So, hi – my name is Liz, and although I am heterosexual, I am demiromantic.

Wow, that was liberating. 

To better understand what I am talking about and before we move forward, you must understand that romantic attraction and sexual attraction can be completely different things for people. For some, it’s one and the same, and for others, they are apples and bananas. For me, I am not sexually attracted to the people I have romantic attractions with and sometimes, if I see a hot guy in the streets and think damn, come to bed with me (which only fantasy Liz thinks about), I most likely won’t have a romantic attraction to them. Sexual feelings, in a nutshell, are an instant feeling; you look at someone’s appearance and feel sexually attracted to most of the time and it’s why most dating apps are heavily used for just hookups at this time. You don’t need to be romantically attracted to someone in order to have sex with them. Many people do it, and there’s nothing wrong with that unless you are safe, protected, and knowledgeable about it. 

Being romantically attracted to them happens with time. You get to know a person, whether it’s a friend or a potential partner, and find yourself growing a deep connection with them. You develop feelings for them in a romantic aspect, I mean you vibe with them, you like them, your body doesn’t know the difference! What makes it strictly a romantic attraction is that you don’t feel sexually attracted to them, and in other situations, you won’t try to pursue romantic relationships with them. You just like them, and you want platonic relationships.

If it seems like I’m even unsure about these things, it’s because I am. I’m still judging myself for even trying to figure out what this was for me and I still feel like I don’t belong under such category, but it’s the best that I can do to help explain years of denying how I function.

For years, I’ve had some relationships with people in my life that I liked in a romantic aspect. Of course, these feelings developed only after I gained a deep, emotional connection with them. I believe I’ve always wanted platonic relationships in my life; the ones where you deeply care for one another and would do anything for each other and hold them close to your heart without the stress and mess of it ever turning sex because you both don’t see each other in that light. I’ve had girl-friends in the past that I’ve felt this deep, emotional connection with and felt romantic attraction to afterward as well as guy-friends that I deeply connected with and felt romantic attraction to as well, but within these relationships I’ve had with these people, I never felt sexual attraction with them; I just wanted long-lasting platonic relationships. A Holder and Linden from The Killing type of relationship.

I understand there are people I’m currently friends with will read this and say, “omg, does Liz have romantic feelings for me?!” and might feel weird still wanting to interact with me. I understand that there is a possibility that my ex-friends, ex-flings, even my ex-partner will read this and think of me differently. I understand there are people who will read this and have opinions on me and will judge me, whatever, but I wanted to tell this story because I felt confused for years. I always wondered why it was so easy for me to have feelings for people who I’ve called my closest friends. For years, I wondered if I was a bisexual too scared to come out of the closet, but not really bisexual because although I’ve liked girls, I never wanted to have sex with them. I also couldn’t understand why or how was I have to develop romantic feelings towards LGBT people but not being LGBT myself. I couldn’t understand why at 25, I am still able to like people in a romantic aspect even if the thought of having sex with another person is anxiety-driven and repulsing. Maybe I’ll never put a label on what this is, but it’s the closest thing that can help me understand and be accepting of why I am this way.

So, I guess this is me coming out. Hey, I like you regardless of sex and gender, but don’t expect to have sex with me, thanks!

… Can I get that on a t-shirt, please?

 

When I was a teenager, I played the victim a lot. If I acted out of line or did anything bad or harsh, I blamed it on other people, since I was never the type to be anything but nice, genuine, kind, and caring. If I did anything out of character, I thought it was due to the influence of other people. “They made me this way.”

Hi, my name is Liz, and I’m learning that I, in certain circumstances, can be a toxic person.

Let’s try that again: Hi, my name is Liz, and I have toxic traits. 

I’m confident enough to know that I’m a kind-hearted person. I care for the people around me, I’m nice even when I’m not having the greatest of days, I’m considerate, and I’m an empath. Thank you, Nina, for reminding me that I truly am empathetic. 

While that might sound good, it doesn’t mean that I don’t make mistakes. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ve hurt a lot of people throughout my years living on this Earth. I’ve hurt people who I’ve dropped as friends for no reason. I’ve probably broken a couple of hearts from secret admirers. I know I’ve hurt my family with actions and words throughout the years. I’ve probably hurt my ex throughout the years as well.

What I’m saying is that we are human, and we are bound to hurt the people in our lives no matter how kind-hearted or nice you are.

So, to the people I’ve hurt in the past, the present, and even those who I will probably hurt in the future: I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for not taking consideration in the things you may have adored, worried about, wanted me to care about, and everything in between that left you feeling like I didn’t give a shit about you. One of my toxic traits is not having a good enough balance of caring for myself and then caring for others. I tend to be harsh, not caring enough, even to some degree I lack empathy or sympathy, and I truly do not tend to be that way. I think I excluded myself from others for so many years, I think I just don’t know how to be present and openly supportive of the things that you care about.  I’m working on it.

I’m sorry for leaving without a warning and make you wonder what happened and what you did wrong. The answer is probably nothing. My toxic trait is that I feel like I’m easily forgotten, which makes me believe I can hop out of friendships without anyone caring or noticing. I’m also sorry for never giving you any closure on why I left you in the first place. Maybe I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings and tell you I don’t want to be friends anymore. Maybe you did something to hurt me first and instead of being mature and speaking up, I stood quiet until I found the right time to slip out of the friendship. Again, my toxic traits really do come to life when it comes to dealing with friendships, and the fact of the matter is maybe I’m just not a good person to be close friends with. Maybe you have to keep your distance from me. Maybe it’s the social anxiety disorder. Maybe I just haven’t had friends in a really long time and tend to overthink the ones that stay. I’m working on it.

Lastly, I’m sorry for ever making you feel like you are always wrong, even in situations where I was in the wrong. My toxic trait is that I can’t take criticism without taking it to heart and that I get extremely defensive when I’m getting accused of doing something wrong or hurtful. I make things about myself sometimes, and sometimes I just wish that I was always right and that people saw things the way that I do. I’m trying to learn that not everything I believe will be correct or the right thing,, and when it isn’t, I should listen and take it for consideration without thinking I’m being attacked. Again, my toxic traits may stem from my mental health, and I’m working on both to be a better person for myself, and to those around me.

But, I’m human. We all are, and we aren’t perfect. Sure, tell that to the toxic trait that thinks I need to be perfect, but I know I’m not. The first step to any sort of self-healing and discovery is understanding that we have toxic traits and that sometimes we are the bad guy in someone’s narrative.

That doesn’t make us bad people, just people that need some work to do. 

So, to my teenage self: I forgive you for not taking responsibility for the things you’ve said and done; you were young and didn’t know any better. I mean, who did? Because of you, I am able to learn and accept myself for not always being good, and for not always being right. Because of you, I’m learning, and I’m becoming more aware, even if I might not always get it right the first couple of times.

 

Masks, disguises, facades, whatever you want to call them; we all have them.

We put them on whenever we got to get through our day. We put them on whenever we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or cause trouble. We put them on because if we didn’t, we wouldn’t be the most functional beings on the planet. So, we pretend everything is fine, our lives are fine, our psyche is fine, our soul is fine, but let’s face it: are we ever totally and completely fine?

Hi, my name is Liz, and I’m bullshitting my happiness.

Lemme rephrase that: I’m going through a very normal part of life; heartbreak, sadness, reidentification, yet I think I have everything under control.

I’m not depressed, nor am I in a bad place as I’m currently writing this. In fact, I’ve been doing pretty well; I have a job I absolutely love, I’m allowing my interests and passions to shine through without feeling judged for them, and I finally feel like I’m getting the time to know myself all over again.

But, I’ve been dealing with some things that are normal in human life, yet my mind does not want to process things properly without feeling I will send myself into a dark place if I *feel* too much.

Let me be honest with you guys: I’m 25 and dealing with my first breakup. It’s challenging, to say the least, only because a large chunk of my identity was (and still is) what I was in that relationship. I’m fairly young, and for almost half of my life I only knew what it was like to be in that relationship. To now be 25, single, and not have a clear image of my own identity makes things hard. It’s not just the grieving that’s hard. It’s not just the memories and remembering the good times that’s hard. The hardest part out of all of this is now having to figure out my own identity after a major part of it was influenced by my relationship. To say that I’ve moved on and “living my best life” is a lie; I’m still grieving over a major loss in my life, and that takes time to do.

Despite romantic relationships, familial relationships are challenging at 25. You don’t just see your family as these strong beings in your life that are invincible; you see them as real human beings with real emotions and feelings of their own, and with our current situation that maybe one day I will share out loud, it definitely makes things harder, especially when my empathetic qualities are more present for my family.

Despite everything that’s happened in the course of these two months, I’ve still been able to put a smile on my face, enjoy my days, and lie to my therapist.

That’s until my regular therapist came back from maternity leave.

My therapist, Cathy, has known me for the last year and a half. She’s been with me through the highs, the lows, the anxiety attacks, the weak points, the strong points, and even when the suicidal thoughts were at an all-time high. She knows me pretty well, and will pretty much call me out on my bullshit. 

This past week, I went to therapy thinking I was alright; I didn’t have anything to talk about, but Cathy is the type of therapist that will dig deep and try to make you talk about something. She started off asking me about my family and how everything is going. Although she knows what’s been going on with my family, it still is so uncomfortable to speak out loud and give it existence. There’s still shame behind it, and it’s something that feels like a sacred family secret, but I did speak about it with Cathy. She asked me questions that felt extremely difficult to answer only because there are questions I don’t think about myself. To reflect on things and question myself about them is something I really do avoid doing; I’m afraid it will cause me to lose my self-control and self-harm or have suicidal thoughts once again.

The topic of my breakup came up and of course, it’s another thing that has become uncomfortable to talk about because it’s something I’m still constantly thinking about. As much of an expressive person I am, I truly to minimize and vaguely answer questions about myself because, well, I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a bad habit that is so embedded in me, I don’t realize I’m doing it. So, in true Cathy fashion, she made me dig deep into my feelings and my behaviors and emotions about this situation and called me out on some of the things that I was doing that’s still unhealthy for my healing. It’s completely normal for me to be doing these things because it was a huge part of my life that I’m now living without, but ultimately I have to be more aware and honest with myself whenever I do something that isn’t healthy for me.

Of course, it was all true. There’s so much holding back and holding on because I’m simply not ready. There’s a lot of distraction and masking up because I’m not ready to deal with it yet. There’s a lot of trauma built up in me that I’m not ready to address because of the fear that I might get bad again, and every time things get bad, I wonder if I will ever get out of that bad place again.

So, I cried and admitted everything to Cathy, and it was the realization that I needed.

The fact of the matter is is that I am happy. I am happy that I’m beginning to challenge the things that I thought I was bad at like socializing with people and keeping a retail job. I’m happy that I’ve gotten to meet some amazing people at my job and have been able to connect with them without feeling like I’m being judged by them. I’m happy that I’m not overthinking minor decisions anymore and are doing things because I want to do them. I’m happy that I’m learning how to embrace the qualities and interests that make up my being without feeling shame for them. I’ve made progress; a tremendous amount of progress, and I’m happy that at this point in life, I’m doing good.

But, that doesn’t mean that I overcame the emotional and mental trauma that lives inside me. It doesn’t mean that my bad habits are all fixed. It doesn’t mean that my depression and anxiety doesn’t get as bad as it was. It doesn’t mean that I’m ready to completely share my story to the world and not care about the backlash it may bring or the judgments it may carry. It doesn’t mean that the energy that the bad things carry doesn’t affect some of my life the way that it does. Trauma doesn’t get fixed by a couple of therapy sessions and medication. It takes life-changing moments, in all honesty.

I’m not bullshitting my happiness, but I’m bullshitting my happiness. Meaning, I’m honestly in a really good place, but it doesn’t mean that there isn’t still work to do. It also means that just because I’m doing okay, it doesn’t mean that my surroundings and the people I care about the most who are going through don’t affect me. It will always affect me because I will always care.

So, lemme reintroduce me once more:

Hi, my name is Liz, and though I’m doing okay, I still carry trauma that may affect my everyday life, so please be patient with me on those bad days. 

If there’s anything I could say about 25, it’s that this is my year of being edgy.

For most of my life, I rocked all different lengths of hair: short, medium, long – you name it, and I had it. The one haircut that I was always around of trying was the pixie cut, so when I decided to cut it into a pixie cut in December and then even shorter for the summer, it was definitely something new that I needed.

The Kpop boy band haircut was still feminine in a strange way. It was long enough to still be styled and clipped up and I didn’t really have like an inner gender crisis until I cut it extremely short for the summer. Sure, it looked good on actress Joey King, a petite, cute, and skinny girl, but I feared that the cute little fairy pixie cut I wanted to try for the summer didn’t exactly match.

It gave me some real insecurities about my feminity and “softness”, not because of my haircut per se, but simply because I’m a fat girl with a really short haircut.

And society’s judgemental ideology of the fat, short-haired woman meant I wasn’t as edgy or attractive as the skinny short-haired woman. We are looked at as ugly, manly, and “butch-like”.

Hi, my name is Liz, and I’m not masculine or a lesbian despite your twisted stereotypes about fat, short-haired women.

One summer day, there was a conversation between my parents and me about my short-haircut was one that I honestly won’t forget. It left me speechless and quite upset that the fat, short-haired woman ideology is also believed by my own family. While my father was trying to make some backward-fucking-case about how women should have long hair, my mother tried to intervene and made a point that “Halle Berry rocked short-hair” to which then my father made the hourglass outline with his hands and said, “but Halle Berry is like this though!” At that moment, I felt the knot form in my throat; I was not only faced with some harsh judgment from my own family but the judgments I had about myself were now being spoken out of the mouths of other people, making me believe that whatever insecurities I had about myself true. I stood quiet, pretty much internalized my feelings because it’s a force of habit, and let it rock.

Although, it did nothing but increase the intensity of my depression I was going through during that time.

It made me think about a variety of things that night: do I look ugly with my short hair? Was it a mistake to even try out this haircut? Was I prettier with longer hair? Am I just too fat to have this haircut? The thoughts were never-ending and because they were, I then started to get angry. Why is the pixie cut only cute on thinner girls and not fat girls? Why are thinner women with pixie cuts not constantly questioned about their femininity and sexuality, but fatter women with the haircut are instantly stripped from their femininity and labeled as a “butch”? Why are we still living in a society that prefers one body type over the other one, STILL?

Ladies and gentlemen, my body and the way I dress with a short haircut do not give you the right to judge the type of person I am. My fatness and a short haircut don’t define a stereotype. Maybe the majority of bisexual or lesbian women don’t have long hair, but it doesn’t mean that every fat girl with a short haircut isn’t feminine enough. I did not cut my hair to erase my femininity; I cut it because I needed to stop thinking that long hair was the only thing that made me pretty. I did it to fall in love with my body, myself, and my image, and man do I love myself more than I ever did in the 25 years of living. 

But, it doesn’t mean that society’s opinions of women that look like me don’t hurt.

It’s annoying to think that society, even other women, believe that women are ugly with pixie cuts. It’s annoying to have elderly, old-fashioned people in the streets stare at me like I have 15 heads on my body. It’s annoying that people will assume your sexuality before they even ask for your goddamn name. Oh, and it’s also annoying when people think you cut off all your hair because you’re having a Britney Spears circa 2007 meltdown.

I mean, she was 25 when she shaved her head…

Anyway! I just want to keep allowing myself to see past that bullshit, and not let those societal opinions about women get to me. I know I’m fat, I know I have short ass hair, and I know I may not have the best fashion sense in the world, but man I know that I’m a motherfuckin’ catch, and I don’t mean for the opposite sex at all. I know I’m a cool ass person to be around! I have enough confidence to look in the mirror and say, “I look really cute today.” I have enough confidence to at least engage in conversations without feeling hella awkward. I believe in myself so much that I was willing to make a huge change in my identity to challenge my self-esteem and confidence.

And to all of my fat girls who are too scared for short haircuts, go for it. 

There is something liberating about chopping off your hair, I swear it has to be the same high you feel when you smoke weed, deadass. There’s something about having all that hair fall off your head and onto the floor. There’s something about being excited about your wardrobe with a new hairstyle! Also, there’s nothing like the feeling you get when you just feel good about yourself after making a big decision like that.

Plus, no matter what body you have, you’re beautiful and unique in your own way. Cheesy, but true.

So to the baby boomers, elderly folks, and the insecure women who feel the need to tear other women down to build themselves up – go find something else to do and leave us alone. Your opinion reflects the type of insecurities you have about yourself and it says a lot about the type of person you are, and because of that, I say may God Bless your sad soul.

Signing out as your fat, pixie haircut friend!

 

 

Alexa! Play “Pomp and Circumstance”!

Isn’t Graduation season the best? It’s truly a great feeling if you’re the one that’s graduating in that specific year. As a 25-year-old woman, I’ve graduated 6 times. Yes, you heard that right: Kindergarten, 5th grade, 8th grade, 12th grade, college, and grad school. It’s been quite the journey for all of us, especially my family that attended all of them. Nevertheless, I like the feeling of graduation, and nothing felt as special as the time I was about to graduate college with my bachelors.

Being the first one in my family to graduate college, it was a very big deal for me. I felt like I accomplished something that felt so far away, and here I was, in 2016, about to graduate. Of course, the weeks leading up to graduation where some of the most stressful weeks I’ve had that year. For starters, I ordered a dress that was twice my size by accident. I looked like Jesus in his rope, to say the least. Last-minute dress shopping was stressful, but I was happy to find a dress that flattered me, and that was extremely pretty. Everything was going well until I had to pick up my graduation gown.

Hi, my name is Liz, and I cried my eyes out when I realized the graduation gown I got didn’t fit me.

It was a warm, Spring day and I was excited to pick up my cap and gown from my college. To finally have one in my hands felt completely insane; it felt like it was ages ago when I wore my burgundy cap and gown at my high-school graduation which sucked by the way. Anyway, the college had its graduates sign a cap and gown form prior to picking up our gowns. Once I saw the sheet and what I had to write down, something seemed extremely fishy.

Why would they ask what our height in order to get a cap and gown?

Normally, it would make more sense if they asked what our size was instead of just our height. I understood at the time that maybe they just wanted to get the proportions right so that the gown wasn’t hitting the floor, but still something didn’t click. I shrugged off the thought and wrote down my height: 5 feet tall.

After the two hour commute to my campus and then waiting another hour for the doors of the cap and gown room to open, I was finally about to receive my cap and gown. A nice gentleman took my slip and saw my height. He gave me the 5’0 to 5’3 gown. I analyzed the bag and it appeared quite small. I asked the man if this was actually going to fit me, and he said: “the extra fabric for the taller graduates in that range will allow it to fit.” I trusted his judgment. He’s been doing this for years, right?

Wrong. 

I came home around 2pm and excitedly wanted to try on the cap and gown. The cap was all size fits all, so the cap fits like a glove. It was now time to unzip the gown and try it on for the first time. I screamed in shock and absolute fucking fear.

The gown had ripped and it didn’t fit me.

I was angry, furious, upset, and damn right embarrassed that within their “height system”, I was now too fat to fit in it. Although I was only 5 feet tall, and I did get the gown that was meant for me, it ripped and it didn’t fit. I think I remember telling my father at the time that “graduation is canceled” and… well… “fuck this shit.”

My father offered to drive me back to the bus stop and go back to campus and exchange the gown for a bigger one. I agreed only because I didn’t want to wait that long to go back and get a new gown; I just wanted to get it over with. So, I got my 20 sixes too small gown, put it back in the bag, and went back on campus.

I felt humiliated throughout the entire bus ride to my campus. I kept thinking about my weight and just how big and obnoxious I must’ve looked to everyone. Still being insecure about my body, I felt like a goddamn fucking whale, I kid you not. I see other students on campus with their cap and gowns, without a care in the world if it fits or not because most likely it would. It was embarrassing to go back to that room and ask for an exchange because the one I got was absolutely too small. I felt sick to my stomach.

When I got back to the cap and gown room, it was flooded with other graduates trying to get their gowns and leave. I’ve had a couple of people yell at me for “cutting the line” and I simply had to explain that I was there earlier and needed an exchange. Once I got to the table where they collected your name and sheet, I had to constantly explain to the people that I was there earlier, my sheet was already taken, my name is already checked off in the book, and I’m here for an exchange. Some guy brushed me off and made one of their other workers “handled me” and gladly enough I wished this woman was there earlier in the day to help me out. I told her my situation and she explained that the system is extremely messed up. She continued to say how she tried, FOR YEARS, change the policy of how they distributed cap and gowns. When I told her I didn’t know what size would fit me, she handed me a gown that simply said “Size: HORIZON”. It fit perfectly, to say the least, but it didn’t make me feel any better that I basically got a gown that was size: so fat, you need a special one that would hit around your large, horizontal self. I still felt so ashamed and ugly, and for a moment I was looking forward to was simply tarnished by an experience that remained me just how fat I truly am.

I finally knew better after the second time, now a Master’s gown, in size: HORIZON, two years later.

It was times like that that remind me that there are people in this world that are just not inclusive enough to acknowledge that all body types exist, and that height doesn’t determine whether or not something will fit or not. I am a short, fat girl. I may look small in height, but I’m big when it comes to my weight, and I know that my body type isn’t the only one that doesn’t work well with such nonsense of a system. You can be tall as hell, yet big-boned. You could also be tall and skinny as hell, yet you now have a gown meant for “average-sized tall people” and now your gown is touching the ground. There is a reason why we don’t buy our clothes in clothing stores with height as the system; height doesn’t mean shit.

This cheap, graduation gown that I threw out once I was one with it (I kept my Master’s gown for reasons) made me feel like I was different in an ugly way. It made me feel “special” in a sore-thumb type of way. It made me face the reality that yeah, I am completely overweight for my height, and I knew that already, but this gown had to remind me that I was. It hurt at first until it didn’t anymore.

Times like this are the reason why clothes shopping is an experience on its own. I’m not complaining whatsoever, I’ve mastered the art of clothing shopping for my size, but it’s not like a person with my body can walk into any store and pick up something their size. For fat people, it doesn’t work like that. But, that’s a different chapter for a different day.

At 25, I reflect that time in my life when I was 22, insecure, and feeling like a whale when I ripped that graduation gown. I look back and wished that 22 was a bit more assertive about the situation instead of allowing people to judge and say that “extra fabric will help zip it up”. I wish 22 had a better understanding of the situation, that it wasn’t her fault, and that the only thing she should’ve done differently was try on the gown in the bathroom before taking it all the way home. This event in life doesn’t affect the way I see myself, but it is a reminder that we as a society have a lot more work to do in order to become inclusive.

As to that cap and gown company: listen to that one girl with the actual common sense and change the system.

If it wasn’t hard seeing myself becoming heavier and heavier throughout my college years, it was hard to hear people actually talk about it out loud.

Hi, my name is Liz, and this picture is the reason why I didn’t go out to a pool or a beach during the summer for 4 years straight.

My aunt and her family had just moved to New Jersey the year before this picture was taken. This day was July 5th, 2014. Because it rained on the Fourth of July that year, my aunt’s sister-in-law decided to throw the patriotic-themed party on the following day. Living only 5 minutes away from my aunt, her house was beautiful; there were a lot of smaller rooms in the house compared to my aunt’s, but this house was definitely a lot more modern, and their backyard was amazing. I was really excited to finally be swimming in a pool again after not doing so since my aunt left her house in Staten Island and moved to Jersey in 2013. I was in my happy place, and my sister took this picture with my phone to document the beautiful summer day we were having.

I posted this picture both on Facebook and Instagram with the caption, “#ThunderThighs”.

A couple of days later, my family and I are back in our NYC apartment, hanging out in the kitchen, talking about the amazing time we had that weekend in New Jersey. As we are talking, my mother informs me that my dad had told her the day prior that a family member of ours on my social media commented on my weight in this picture. This person asked my father if I was alright because I was “really heavy” and “looking unhealthy”. My sister got really upset at the comment made, and at that moment, I shrugged it off. To the world, I was so accepting of my body and I did not care what other people thought about it. Behind closed doors, I felt violated.

I deleted the picture on both of my social media accounts, and never felt like i was meant to wear a swimsuit, or anything showing skin, ever again.

It was the fact that I knew I was getting heavier that killed me. It was the fact that the surgery I had done just 10 months before that day that I started to rapidly gain weight. It showed in my body, my face, my everything, and I tried my best to not hate myself for my body being like this, as well as accept that it was something out of my control.

It took me years to put on a swimsuit again; 4 years actually. I still get extremely nervous wearing a swimsuit in public at a beach or pool. Slowly but surely, I’m not caring about what others see my body as.

The thing people failed to realize is that not all weight gain happens because you’re eating 3 burgers and 2 cartons of ice-cream every day. Some weight gain is caused by illness and diseases, as well as aftermaths of surgeries. If we are going to be sympathetic to those with illness and diseases that cause people to lose weight rapidly, let’s keep that same energy for the other side of the spectrum, shall we? I say this because, during this time in my life, it was extremely hard for me to come to terms with my weight gain because it happened so fast. I was barely eating, I had quit soda drinking for a year at this point, and yet people called me unhealthy and heavy, not knowing that this weight gain was simply something out of my reach.

At 25, I know I’m even heavier than I was in that picture, and I don’t hate myself for it. Would I love to lose some weight for my health? Of course, but I’m not going to sit here and hate my body for being what it is.

So yeah, my thunder thighs are still with me, and they aren’t afraid to be shown in shorts, dresses, skirts, nor swimsuits. My thunder thighs are large and in-charge.