The Day I Was Called “Fat@$$”


About two weeks ago, I was minding my own business and walking from my sorority suite to my car parked in the senior parking on campus. I was walking next to one of the dorms, close to cars driving by. Walking with my head down, as usual, I heard someone yell, “FATASS!!!” and I turned to face a car of boys laughing and pointing to me as they drove away.

Now, I’m no Kate Moss size-wise here. My Grandpa played football as a tackle and my father played as a kicker/offensive-defensive linemen. I’m short and squatty because that’s how my father’s family is shaped (if you’ve read my previous post you know this is the side of the family I look the most alike, something my father apologizes for profusely).


My body has always been the bane of my existence. Never being athletic myself, I seem to be gifted the world’s worst metabolism. I’ve been the “fat” one of my friends for as long as I can remember. Taunted as a kid, pre-teen, and young adult has not been the best for my confidence or psyche. On a survey I rated my self-esteem at a 0, and how I think I look as “can we use negative numbers?”

I can’t begin to tell the things I think and feel about my body, perpetuated by peers, society, the media (oh yes the would-be journalist finds SOMETHING wrong with her future career field, shocking I know) and a lot more. The pressure: too intense for words. Was society creating this building pressure, or was I believing the bullshit I was being fed. Pressure to be the perfect ballerina, sorority girl, etc. and so many unrealistic standards placed on social groups that I assumed I would never fit into.


Curvy body bad. Skinny body good. But not too skinny. Have some curves. But not too many, EW stretch marks (which every single effin’ women has, btw). Be tall. But not too talk. But not too short. Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah…

I could honestly go on and on, especially about the pricks in this world that will only date girls under a certain weight, or girls who will only date guys of a certain height (cause honestly that’s pretty messed up too). The people, whose opinion I starved myself over. Because growing up in such a harsh society is rough. My mom and family and friends will constantly tell me how I’m none of the horrible things I think about myself, but I can’t help but disagree.

In the world as it is today, it is so hard to feel confident about yourself. I don’t think, honestly, I’ll ever be confident in myself. BUT… what I do have, is over 50 friends and family and wonderful people in my life that will come to my defensive when I post about so called jackass who called me a fatass. I have wonderful people who lift me up when I feel my worst and remind of the wonderful parts about me.

I think I’m a damn good writer. I’m funny, even if not everyone gets my sense of humor (see Demi Lovato’s “Mug” joke, Cara Delevingne’s “Awkward” interview, or Amy Schumer’s roast of Charlie Sheen). I will do my best to make my friends and family happy. I’m a softie with a big heart.

And THOSE are the things that matter most about a person. Not if they wear a size XS or XL shirt. You can be the most outwardly attractive person, but it’s still what is on the inside that matters most.


The responses from my friends and family are the reason I continue to be myself, even in the times I’m called annoying or stupid or fat or ugly. They are the reason I’m a good person. I want to be the best person and best friend to people.

I will not judge you for your outward appearance. And I hope you can do the same for me. Because everyone is important.


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