Breaking up with Half of Me: We are SOOOOOO OVER!

 Have you ever broken up with anyone? You know how it goes. You think about it for a long time, plan how to have “the talk,” remember the good times, and use the bad times as proof of why you need to get out. You might decide to try to work it out, then remember how toxic you are to one another. I am finally breaking up with myself, more like Half of myself. I’ve thought about it for a long time, I’ve remembered good and bad times, I see toxic patterns and I know that it is time to let go. This blog is my open conversation with myself, and you, about my journey through life and my attempt to break up with half of myself.

For generations upon generations, the women in my family have been know for our curves, especially the hips, thighs and backsides. I could take time to give historical reasons why we hold our weight, and a lot of it, in the lower halves of our bodies. Those reasons might include the scrap (intestines, feet, tongues, etc.) foods that were passed down from masters to slaves at the beginning of our country. The reasons might include the generational trauma that our bodies remember as the impacts of generations of rape, abuse and mistreatment run in our veins. But, this is not the blog for that history, yet. This is a place for me to share with you my journey through the ups and downs of weight and self-esteem.

The first time that I remember being aware of the the fact that I was fat was in the fifth grade.  I wrote an essay about feeling fat and ugly because I was so different from my peers.  I was the only black girl and one of two black kids in the class and one of two, including my sister, in the whole school.  My body was softer, my hair was harder to manage, my thighs were thunderous. I recall talking to my favorite teacher about how I felt.  I don’t remember what he said, but I remember being assured that I was beautiful and that God loved me. 

In high school, my curves busted out.  When I look back at pictures, I think Man oh Man, if I had that body now!  Back then, I thought I was fat an ugly and different.  I played every sport, basketball, volleyball, track.  And I was good at two out of three of them (never could get into track except for the shot put…the sport for the big girls).  

In college, I was one of 10 black people on campus. I don’t point out these facts for any reason than to give you and idea of the identity management I perfected at an early age. I did not have other women around who looked like me. I did not have representation in movies, products or television shows. I could only compare myself to my white friends, and we were different. Well, I was different. At this point in my life, I can say that I was different, but back then, I thought there was something wrong with me. No matter how much I worked out, ate less, drank more water, fewer carbs, more protein… I could not lose weight. By looking at those around me, it was not okay to be the weight that I was.

It would take over twenty years before I learned that I was beautiful, and healthy, and morbidly obese. Two out of three ain’t bad, until it is.  Gotta break up with that last b.