i was lying in the bath, looking at my lil (big) tummy and i came to a conclusion. 

i’m glad i grew up fat. i’m glad i was forced to laugh off insults, forced to grow a thicker skin, to learn about other people and their eternal bullshit. i’m glad i had to find friends who love(d) me for my sense of humour or whatever value they were able to find. i’m glad for the circumstances that allowed me to be empathetic, rather than sympathetic. i’m glad that i’m on a road to loving myself, when i’m told that no one else will, and i’m glad to disprove that fuckery, day in and day out. i’m glad that i grew stronger. i’m glad that i grew more vulnerable. i’m glad that i grew to believe my self-worth is not tied to my body. i’m glad i was forced to learn about harsh truths. i’m glad i was able to experience whatever small obstacles that made me, me. i don’t want to suggest that every fat person feels the same way, or that they should, but i know that for me, my ‘fatness’ is something that i’ll carry with me, no matter what i weigh. and i’m glad.