Chapter 1: Looking BackMy name is Anne. I’m what you could call a BBW. In other words, I’m a pretty big girl. It’s not so easy being a big girl sometimes. The media is basically one big slap in the face, for starters. But there’s something about growing up fat, and dealing with it your whole life, that seems to make you tougher. It’s almost like having that experience puts you in a certain mindset that leaves you better prepared to tackle certain tasks. But then again, I wouldn‘t know what that‘s like to grow up fat. You see, I wasn’t always such a heavy person. Actually, I used to be somewhat thin back in my younger days.
But that was a long time ago, even if it sometimes feels like only yesterday. When I think about all the ups and downs I’ve experienced since then (and as far as the number on my scale goes, it’s been mostly “ups”), I often wonder how I would have handled them had I still been thin, or had I never been thin and been born chubby. My journey has given me what I consider to be a fairly unique perspective on things. And man, what a journey it’s been.
I come from a long line of big woman on my mother‘s side of the family; I’ve seen pictures of my grandmother, and she was very large. My mother and my Aunt Rose are both very big gals as well. When I was growing up they seemed so huge to me. They weren’t 500 pounds or anything, probably more in the 250 range, but when you’re a little kid you tend to exaggerate things. I definitely remember identifying them as fat, though. But the thing was, they all kind of embraced it. Like they were proud of it in a strange way, or at least that’s how it seemed. My mother would always tell my sister and me about these grand feasts her family would have when she was growing up. She still jokes to this day about how she thinks my grandmother was trying to fatten her up on purpose.
My mom carried on the family tradition and loved to cook big, hearty meals for our family. She made meatballs that were to die for. My father loved it, since he’s a fairly big man himself. My little sister Sarah, who’s a few years younger than me, learned to love food and has always been kind of on the pudgy side as a result. I fell in love with food at an early age, too, but luckily for me I never seemed to gain too much weight. I had been blessed with a high metabolism. Back then I was careful to limit my portions as well, so it wasn’t all blind luck that I managed to stay in decent shape.
I was never what you would call “model thin”, but back in high school I was in pretty good shape. I was 5’5” (still am, I suppose) and always hovered around 140 pounds or so. Sure, sometimes I would’ve liked to be super skinny like some of my friends were, but I was never uncomfortable or anything with my weight. In fact, being in the 140 zone had some perks. I had some nice curves going for me, if I do say so myself. The little extra padding on my butt and my C-cups had my skinny friends jealous. They would always say things like “I wish I had curves like you, Anne.“ It was flattering. It was also confusing, because they would say how they wanted curves, but then they’d be in the gym all the time to stay super skinny. I didn’t understand the rationale, but then again teenage girls are insane.
Even though I was flattered by the compliments, I knew that too much “padding” would be a bad thing, as I’m sure the women in my family and some of my bigger friends knew first hand. I can remember more than one occasion where I would be walking down the halls with my friend Laura, who was very chubby, and I could hear people snicker as we passed. Laura thought nothing of it, and I admired her for that. I would always ask myself what I would do if I was in that situation. I guess I never really answered myself because I figured it would never come up. Guess I was wrong about that one…
7 chapters, created 12 years , updated 53 years
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