When I first looked at these pictures my first thought was delete. I look fat.
It took a conscious effort for me to stop myself from the internal refrain fat, fat, fat. A conscious effort not to delete.
And, if I would have taken these a year ago, they would be gone. Permanently erased because there's 'something wrong' with the body that I have. That curves mean cellulite and worth is measured in weight.
These are hard words to write because for so long I've surrounded myself in self-loathing and comparing my body type to what I thought I was supposed to look like.
It's interesting to me the words that we use and how often we treat weight as if it correlates with value. Greetings like 'you look so thin' and 'have you lost weight,' heightening this idea that when my body is thinner I look prettier. That's when the obsessive thoughts come. When I notice the flaws in my appearance and obsess over what I weigh, how I look. Body dysmorphia whispering over and over that word. Fat, fat, fat, fat. I'm anxious around those people, obsessively thinking about what I'm wearing and what I look like. Noticing as they watch out of the corner of their eye what I eat and what I don't eat until I feel anxious enough to throw up.
There are times when I look at my body and I see stretchmarks as signs of growth and scars as stories and others where all I see is too much skin. There are times when my body has been happiest and healthiest at its heaviest. There have been times when anxiety and depression caused me to lose sleep, weight, and myself.
This year I would do 'dot your eye and cross your tea parties' when my little third graders passed off their cursive letters. There's nothing cuter than a group of 8 year olds gathered around a table practicing sipping apple juice through tea cups and daintily eating desserts, cucumber sandwiches, and whatever other delicacies I had on hand. It was during one of these parties that I noticed that one of my students wasn't acting like the others. While I was surrounded by students enjoying themselves, freely eating and chit chatting away she was quietly nibbling the same apple slice that she had been since the start of the party.
As the rest of the students slowly drifted out to recess she started chatting with me and eating at the lunch on her plate. I ate with her and we talked about all of the normal third grade things until she got very quiet.
"Miss Edgar... do you think I'm fat?"
It took me by surprise and instantly my heart ached. I asked her why she would ever ask that and she responded that a boy had told her at recess that she was a 'fatty.' Words have power. She told me that she watched the other kids eat and that she didn't eat more than they did.
In that moment I felt her pain and I understood more what my Mom must have felt all the times I have cried to her about my body.
Very, very carefully I chose my words. I told her about how her body was strong. How it helped her to move and how it helped her to learn. I told her how proud I was of her for reacting with kindness even when others were mean. We had been reading
Wonder so we talked about Auggie and how what we look like doesn't matter, how we act is what matters. I hope that what I told her was what she needed to hear. I hope that she felt that her worth was less of what she looks like and more of who she is.
Ever since that conversation I have been trying to be more conscious of my internal monologue, thinking more of what I would say to my third grade self. I want to be a role model for my students of loving and accepting them and to do that I have to love and accept myself.
So here I am on this continuous journey of learning to love myself and instead of deleting my pictures deleting the mentality that there is something wrong me.
Outfit Details
Hat:Vintage Estate Sale (?)
Dress: Vintage Thrifted $6
Salt water sandals (basically my favorite shoes since 1996):
Saltwaters Website
Sweater: Thrifted, $3
Necklace: Vintage, Thrifted $1
Purse:
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