Meatball and Motormouth
The following is an excerpt from my book Cake, Fries, and My Fat Angry Thighs: A Journal of Sorts, Then and Now.
MEATBALL AND MOTORMOUTH
At two separate times in my life, I’ve been blessed with the nickname “Meatball.”
It was given to me at birth by one of my nurses, who was not unaware of my ten-pound weight. When I was a teenager, my best friend and I were christened “Meatball and Motormouth” by another friend’s father. She talked a lot, and I, well, you get the picture. Because it sounds like something from a 90’s comedy, I willingly accept this surname that was affectionately bestowed upon me.
Since I was a child, I have always thought of myself as a fat girl. To some, the word “fat” feels like an insult, but to others, it’s merely a word that describes a larger body.
It’s only considered “bad” when it is attached to shame and judgment.
I have allowed it to take the stage and become the main character of my story.
For so long, it was the thing that defined me the most. I allowed it to overshadow those character traits I was proud of and tarnish them in a small way that was never intended.
I constantly peruse magazine articles, websites, and blogs describing the latest diets, food-combining protocols, and the celebrities who have lost over fifty pounds.
On the flip side, I exercise and stay informed. I have a pretty good idea of the calories most foods have, and I make sure to eat my leafy greens every day as I’ve heard they are superfoods with the capacity to solve most of life’s problems.
Admittedly, I criticize myself for enjoying food, especially when it is of the unhealthy variety. It’s hard to acknowledge that I love food.
I wish I could be more like those people who hate dessert, or who have never indulged in a state fair corn dog.
Those people can’t be much fun.
People who love to eat are always the best people.
—Julia Child
REFLECTION
It’s difficult to let go of old narratives, even when you know they don’t tell the whole truth. I am continuously learning about who I am and rewriting my story.
Very little of it has to do with the number on the scale