I have an inner Chub-Scout. Sometimes, on binge days, she gets embraced a little tighter than usual. I use the term to be funny about it, and it tends to get a laugh, but it’s the bane of my existence.

By looking at me, you probably would just be confused by this statement until you saw me on this “binge” or “cheat” day. I’m your average twenty-something: purposefully purchasing jeans that do not induce OSTS, and have even been called ‘thin’ by the rare observer. Which is nice. But in my head, dear reader, it’s sweet but simply not true.

Bottom line is: no matter how I look now, I was the fat kid.

I know what you’re thinking: if I appear to be an average-sized girl now, what difference does it make that I spent my childhood chubby? The weight didn’t stay with me, right?

Not even close.

A fat-kid complex isn’t something you can shed by counting calories and drinking your eight glasses of water a day. Not when you’ve been on a diet half your life, have dealt with the name-calling and — what can actually be worse — being flat-out ignored. You’re stuck with those memories of the gangly girls in your elementary school classes calling you “fat” with that look of disdain, like you’re a failure at life because you’re bigger. You’re ignored by the boys you have crushes on in junior high and high school, convinced that your fate is to go unwanted.

And so it’s been ingrained in your head. You don’t know why it has to be this way, but what you are is not good enough. Period. Read More »