You’re not fat, you’re big boned.

You’re not fat, you have fat.

You’re not fat, you’re beautiful.

All said with good intentions, but all cutting like knives through my thick skin.

Halfheartedly trying to relieve me of my fatness,

As if there was something inherently wrong with my body.

As if I was somehow exempt from the group of women just like me,

Who shop in the plus sized section, binge on fast food and tip the scales when we step upon them.

I am the elephant in the room,

Causing my friends discomfort and guilt for daring to be above a size 12.

Well, I am nobody’s fat friend and I am leaving this pity party early.

I tip the scales and I am not ashamed.

When I say fat, I mean it.

I mean luscious curves exploding out of my size 16 jeans,

I mean wide bearing hips that knock things over as I walk,

I mean buttons on my shirt popping open from the sheer girth of my chest.

I am fat and I am proud!

I have spent too many years hating my body,

Grabbing at my skin in the mirror,

Skipping meals,

Trying to shrink myself down in a vain hope that it would make people like me.

The day I learned to accept the word “fat” was the day I learned to love myself.

Inch for inch.

Ounce for ounce.

Pound for pound.

I am large and in charge,

And I will never again attempt to make myself disappear to satisfy someone else’s idea of beauty.