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 »

First, sex was something to be afraid of.

It was big and complicated and hush hush. If I was watching a movie with my parents and the PG rating went just a little too far, my mom would start talking loudly – signaling that whatever was happening onscreen wasn’t for my eyes. My Catholic priest would stand on the pulpit every Sunday, telling me that God was always watching, and every time I did something (or thought something) not good, He would know. Sex was probably bad – why else would my mom get so nervous? – and so if I even thought about it by accident, I was gonna have God to deal with.

Then, sex was something to be in awe of.

Junior high whispers. High school high-fives. I would listen to friends and friends of friends talk about it like it was Vegas and Heaven combined. Those who had it were admired. Those who didn’t were ignored. I so desperately wanted to know what all the giggling was about.

After that, sex was something to be good at. Read More »