Hefty, sturdy, solid, sumo, chunky, lardy and dumpy. They sound like plump Disney dwarfs. I was called all of these (and worse) as a teenager. All by so-called friends and even my brother. They could have just said overweight or plain fat. I was fat. If you believe the wonderful BMI calculator I still am.
As a baby complete strangers would squeeze my cute chubby cheeks. Fast forward several years and those chipmunk cheeks made me a target for every bitchy girl at school. The bullying started at primary school when I was the first girl in my class to get a bra. By age 11 I was a 36C and became a walking freakshow. The straps were pinged countless times a day, to the point I started wearing a vest under my bra so it wouldn’t hurt as much.
When I would stress over outfits my mum would say “it’s school, not a fashion show.” That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t a teenage girl. She didn’t burst the zip on her school skirt and have to hold it together with an elastic band. I had grown out of children’s sizes before I reached high school and was wearing a size 14 skirt, which clearly no longer fitted. My friends were skinny with long legs that could easily slide into Topshop jeans. Their thighs didn’t chafe in the summer when they wore shorts.Read More »