To my 11 year old Self who Hated her Big Boobs
My favorite outfit as a pre-teen was jeans and a maroon Adidas windbreaker over whatever t-shirt I could find that day. I didn’t wear makeup (but I loved DOING people’s makeup), never did anything with my hair and the only variety in my outfit came when it got too hot to wear jeans, and I wore cutoff shorts that still hit my knees. And I never took that huge windbreaker off.
I remember a few bouts of TRYING to be less of a Tomboy. My best friend from elementary school let me try on a shirt of hers once – maybe in fifth grade? I got stuck getting it off of myself. That’s the first moment I remember feeling that I was a lot different from my friends. Yep, pretty much all of them.
My 11th birthday party included my friends coming over for makeup and manicures. By me.
But I dressed in baggy clothes, I played all the sports and played the role of Tomboy for all intents and purposes. But I didn’t want to. See, I know now that as a little girl, the world was telling me I couldn’t be fat AND feminine. That I couldn’t care about my looks if I was also overweight. That I had to hide my curves – especially because I was the first to get any hint of them in my entire school. I remember being teased once for having the biggest boobs in the school in 6th grade. At the time, I was mortified. But I remember telling my mom when I got home and her response was: just wait until you get to middle school. No one will have a problem with your big boobs then. She was right. I’ve always had great boobs.
The message I got from the world was that I had to be in this box – this box that included all the fat girls in the world. And all the fat girls in the world were slobs, ugly, didn’t care about makeup or hair or anything that made them feel girly. A box that meant I had to have an absolutely fucking dazzling personality and be really funny (check, check – worked real hard at those two). A message that told me I needed to put ANYTHING ahead of me so that people wouldn’t see the fat girl before they saw anything else.
So I went with Tomboy. Because it was acceptable to be big if I was tough, dressed like a dude, didn’t really care about my appearance, and was hilarious (still got that one on lockdown). I also took up the responsible, smart and leadership things.
I was all the things.
Except for feminine.
Because I DIDN’T THINK I WAS ALLOWED TO BE.
I’m still peeling off the layers of that little girl that stay with me today. Until recently, I believed that I wasn’t worthy of being WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT – whether it’s being feminine, a makeup artist, a health coach, a mom, or ALL OF THE THINGS. I put myself in those boxes and gave myself those labels. Because the world wanted me in those boxes with those safe labels. The world isn’t comfortable with a plus size girl who also cares about her appearance, who isn’t JUST the funny girl, who is also a health coach, who is comfortable in her own skin. Yet.
I’m here to be a voice in changing that.
To my 11 year old self:
THE WORLD IS WRONG. YOU CAN BE WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT TO BE. Nothing is mutually exclusive. You can be smart AND sexy. You can be tough AND feminine. You can be a makeup artist AND save the world. You can be fat AND still love and accept yourself. You can also be fat AND the healthiest version of yourself. You can be a leader AND still have questions. You can be a mama AND have a life outside your home. You don’t have to choose.