A Letter to a Fat Kid
Hello, Julie.
I know — you don’t want to listen to me.
Just another person throwing words at you, acting like they understand, telling you about all those things you should do better, before turning back to their own S/M life, their own world that seems so much easier than yours.
How many times have you wished you were a boy?
Their waistlines always seem to be more forgiving — or at least, that’s how it feels right now. Yeah, I know.
I didn’t come empty-handed — I brought some sweets. A small gesture.
But I know… you won’t touch them in front of me.
Maybe later, when no one is watching, when no one is there to judge you, when no one can see you taking what they tell you you shouldn’t have. I hope you’ll like them. I know, “fat people aren’t supposed to “like” food”. I hope you’ll like them.
How many times have you hidden food?
How many times have you eaten in secret, in the dark, with your heart pounding, afraid of getting caught, as if you were doing something shameful? And when you were caught, how many times did they give you that look — the one that says, See? That’s why you are the way you are.
You won’t say much in front of me.
You don’t trust people — why should you?
You’ve been taught not to.
You’ve learned that people’s kindness often has strings attached, that their compliments are laced with something bitter, that their concern is just another way of reminding you of what you already know: you don’t fit, and it’s your fault.
You’re just now getting to know the world, and this is what it tells you. You are just now getting to know the world, and all you hear is what the world has to say about you. It’s not going to be like that in the future.. In the future, you will tell the world about yourself.
You can’t even imagine what it would be like to have a flat stomach.
You see other girls in their crop tops, their shorts, their tiny dresses — clothes that don’t ride up, don’t squeeze too tight, don’t leave red marks on their skin.
Their bellies don’t fold when they sit down.
They don’t get out of breath walking up the stairs.
They don’t sweat in places no one ever talks about.
They don’t pull their shirts away from their bodies every few minutes, hoping no one notices.
And then, there’s the gym.
A place full of happy people who already look the way you wish you did. What are you supposed to do there?
You picture yourself walking in, feeling like a fraud, like you don’t belong. You imagine people staring, whispering, judging.
And even if they don’t, you will still hear them.
The voices in your head have already memorized every cruel thing ever said to you, and they repeat them over and over again, even when no one else does.
It’s hard to listen to me right now. I know.
You’re eagerly waiting for the moment I vanish, so you can finally find relief from all the stress I’ve caused you — in the only pleasure that you allow yourself, yet still feel guilty for.
The only thing that would make you happy would be if you could wake up tomorrow and be someone else. Someone thinner. Someone prettier. Someone who doesn’t have to think about how much space they take up. Someone who doesn’t have to pull down their shirt every time they stand up.
Someone who doesn’t panic when they see plastic chairs, wondering if they will hold.
Someone who doesn’t have to scan a crowded room, looking for the biggest seat, the sturdiest option.
But let me ask you something — how happy do you think all these thin people really are?
The ones who make fun of you, who look at you with pity, who act as if you are less than them?
Do you really believe happy people have that much cruelty to spare? They’re not happy, Julie. Take it from me — you’ll understand that when you lose the weight.
You don’t believe me now. You will.
Right now, you just feel envious and resentful.
Right now, you want to hide. Right now, you feel ashamed.
You will lose weight. And when you do, you’ll realize something devastating— it was never about your body. Not really.
It was about the way people made you feel.
About the way they treated you.
About the way you learnt to feel about yourself.
About the way you learnt you are less deserving of love, respect, and happiness just because your body didn’t fit your primary world’s standards.
But tell me, Julie — when did you ever even have the chance to do something wrong? When did you ever get the chance to not be this way? But you have to teach yourself to do things differently — and not just about the weight. Everyone has his quest — and you have your own.
But I haven’t already told you the most important of all
— you will never fit in.
No matter how much weight you lose, you won’t fit in.
Because you weren’t born to fit in.
You weren’t put here to take up whatever space is left for you.
You were put here to make your own space and choose your own place.
Your own, unique space.
Not the clothes they give you to wear. Not the seat they offer you to sit in. Not the life they tell you to settle for.
You are here to create your own clothes, your own place, your own life.
Oh Love, it’s so hard.. Yes, it’s hard.
I know how much it hurts…
I know how much you hate your body.
Every stretch mark, every roll, every part of yourself that feels too much. But listen, sweetheart — that feeling doesn’t disappear with the weight.
I wish it did. I really do. But it doesn’t.
You have to sit with all the shame, all the pain, all the things this world forced you to carry before you even had a chance to be anything else.
And instead of punishing yourself for it, you have to hold yourself.
You have to cry with yourself.
You have to forgive yourself for simply existing in a way that others have told you is wrong.
You have to start loving yourself.
And maybe then, something will change – and I’m not talking only about your weight.
Not to cry for yourself, but to cry with yourself,
holding yourself in your own embrace.
That’s the hardest part — not losing the weight.
To forgive yourself for all the things you have felt together.
Life isn’t fair, but it shows its harsh side to everyone — to challenge them to claim their life for themselves.
And you will learn this early.
And it will make you stronger.
It will make you so strong that your day will brighten just from the sweet scent of a flower, from the flutter of a butterfly landing on your desk while you work.
That’s how strong you will become..
Who do you think you’ll betray if you lose the weight?
Who do you think you’re punishing with your weight?
Will you be able to bear it if your weight is no longer what connects you to the world around you?
Can you handle the idea that your body might no longer speak for all the things you hate, for all the things that hurt, for all the things you think will never change?
I will stay and talk to you until you finally get angry enough to tell me everything you’ve been holding back. The ugly, painful things.
I don’t mind, Julie. I can take it.
Yes, I can take your weight, your shame, your sadness, your pain.
I’m not disgusted and I’m not afraid.
I’m not leaving you tonight.
But I can’t make the journey for you.
You will do it, sweetheart.
You will rise.
And you will become wise.
But you have to be brave.
Because with every pound you lose, something buried will rise to the surface. Something unspoken will need to be heard – and it will be ugly at first.
And you will have to listen — with care and with compassion.
You desire more, you crave deeply, and you will honor, respect, and create all those big dreams of yours.
You will make space — but not with your weight anymore, love.
And you will make space that invites the whole world in and more.
I know that people have shown you how not to love yourself. But there will also be people who will show you how to love yourself, who will love you more than you can imagine and more than you believe.
And they will teach you about love.
And it will have nothing to do with the weight of your body but with the weight of your heart
..and theirs.
And maybe around that time, you will meet another fat kid.
Thank you for the valuable time you dedicated to my words!
Take care and enjoy!
