“You don’t look like you should be short!” A mild acquaintance once said to me during a casual conversation. We were in college, and I was free of the near constant bullying that I’d gone through in secondary school. My battered and broken self-esteem was finally in an environment where it was given the chance to grow, to be something other than a pile of dust incapable of accepting anything positive about myself. But it was still fragile, and the innocently meant comment stung a little. What did that mean? I didn’t look like I ‘should be’ short?

I admit now with no sense of self-deprecation that although I stand just shy of five foot, I am not waif-like. I don’t look like a strong gust of wind could blow me over, I have thighs that would provide a cannibal with a hearty meal, and in my final year of primary school I had to accept that my bum couldn’t fit underneath the toilet stalls anymore. It took me a long time to lose my puppy fat, and that laid the foundations for my struggles with self-image. The funny thing is, the bullying at school was never about my weight, but my weight remains my biggest issue to this day.

body

I have to remind myself that I am not fat; I fit into size eight jeans for God’s sake! The hereditary double chin I got from my mother’s side of the family doesn’t help matters, but as long as I don’t screw my face up in disgust I can pretty much get away with it. It’s working, it really is. I’m not saying it’s an instant transformation, you don’t look in the mirror, say “I’m not fat!” then skip lightly off into the sunset. It builds up slowly, over the months and years. And even if you are overweight, you either have to make the decision that you’re okay with that and tell yourself that everyday instead, or work to lose that extra weight. It’s less about what you look and more about what you’re opinion of yourself is.

But the main thing I learned in college was how to be funny about my hang ups and physical flaws. We all have them. My double chin, for one, I’m working on a way to completely suck my face into it for protection against cold weather. I have to accept that I can’t lock a toilet stall on the inside then crawl underneath the door, giggling evilly as I go, because my bum will get stuck. And I don’t want to stay on a toilet floor for any length of time. It’s not a case of saying it before anyone else does, but it made my perspective lighter and less pessimistic. I no longer hate those aspects of my body, they amuse me, and it’s nice to not go through a torrent of abuse from my chronically low self-esteem.

Still, this Christmas I put on some pounds and had to fight back the nasty comments and desperate paranoia that arose because of it. Hey, I’m a work in progress. 

About the author

A chronic idiot with a passion for travelling and writing and travel writing, Rosie graduated from Cardiff University with a degree in English Literature and a Masters in Creative Writing. Whilst she aspires to be the next Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway, Dr. Seuss or E.L. James, Rosie prepares to enter the adult world and become a responsible member of society. Both of her university degrees go toward making terrible jokes, rambling blog posts and reading the popular literature that we all feel obligated to read. When she’s not sat in front of her laptop, Rosie can be found just about anywhere. With Iceland, Thailand, Barcelona and Belgium under her belt, there’s still the rest of the world to experience.

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