My Body May Stay Fat, but It Will Not Stay Still

Not everything the fat body does is for weight losHow we see the world shapes who we choose to be — and sharing compelling experiences can frame the way we treat each other, for the better. This is a powerful perspectiveI was 3 years old when I started swimming. I was 14 when I stoppedI don’t remember the first time I got in a pool, but I do remember the feeling of slipping below the surface for the first time, arms cutting through the water, strong and straight legs propelling me forward.

I felt powerful, forceful, tranquil and meditative, all at once. Any worries I had were the purview of air and land — they couldn’t reach me underwaterOnce I started swimming, I couldn’t stop. I joined the youth swim team at my neighborhood pool, eventually becoming a coach. I swam relay in meets, anchoring the team with a forceful butterfly. I never felt stronger or more powerful than when I swam. So I swam every chance I goThere was only one problem. I was fat.

I didn’t face some classic bullying scenario, classmates chanting singsong names or openly ridiculing my body. No one commented on my size at the pooBut when I wasn’t cutting through the sharp, still water, I was adrift in a sea of diet talk, weight loss fixations, and peers who suddenly wondered if they were too fat to pull off that dress or whether their thighs would ever get thinner.

Even swimsuits reminded me that my body couldn’t be seeI was a teenage girl, and diet talk was ubiquitous. If I don’t lose this next 5 pounds, I’m never leaving the house. He’s never going to ask me to homecoming — I’m way too fat. I can’t wear that swimsuit. No one wants to see these thighsI listened as they spoke, my face flushing red. Everyone, it seemed, found their own bodies to be impossibly fat. And I was fatter than all of them***

Over time, as I entered middle and high school, I became acutely aware that the sight of my body was unacceptable to those around me — especially in a swimsuit. And if my body couldn’t be seen, it undoubtedly couldn’t be movedSo I stopped swimming regularlI didn’t notice the loss immediately. My muscles slowly went slack, slipping from their previous taut readiness. My resting breath shallowed and quickened. A previous sense of calm was replaced with a regularly racing heart and the slow strangulation of constant anxiety.

Even in adulthood, I spent years away from pools and beaches, carefully researching bodies of water before entrusting them with my maligned body. As if someone, somewhere, could guarantee my trip would be free of jeers or stares. As if some fat guardian angel had foreseen my desperation for certainty. They won’t laugh, I promise. I was desperate for a safety the world refused to I reluctantly looked over the only swimsuits in my size: matronly swim dresses and baggy “shortinis,” designs dripping in embarrassment, relegated to the largest sizes. Even swimsuits reminded me that my body couldn’t be seen.