The last year of my life has been a strange one. One year ago I weighed nearly 100 pounds more than I do now. It was in May that I underwent bariatric surgery. A year later and I’m on the road to the size I want to be. The image above is me a mere 8 months apart (June 2023-February 2024) and it was the first time I was able to look at myself and see a difference. It was an amazing feeling. It was also a horrific one.
I’ve been the “big kid” since I was born. I was over nine pounds at birth, which was unfortunate news for my mother at the time. I’ve always been tall and wide. In elementary school, I endured the normal name calling that many big kids get. A lot of it.
But then I got to junior high, where things were different. People didn’t outright call me names. Instead, one specific bully picked on me for an entire year because of my weight. And nobody ever offered a helping hand, which actually kind of sucks worse.
Then there was high school. And oddly enough, high school was fine. In fact, the only fat-shaming (that’s what it is when you make fun of or name call overweight people, by the way) thrown my way was from a group of neighborhood friends who didn’t go to school with me (to this day, the nickname “Titty” is burned into my brain because boys who are fat have boobs like girls or some such thing). School was a place where I was free of that, though. Then came college.
When I moved to LA for school, I basically started rebuilding myself from scratch. I didn’t want to be the fat kid anymore and I was in a new place, surrounded by new people, ready to embark on my life. And I did. I might’ve been the fat kid back home, but far away I was Chris, the guy really into radio. Chris, the guy who worked on the school website. Chris, the nice guy. Chris. Just Chris. Or Hayner. I go by Hayner a lot.
And yet, to this day I’m haunted by the names. The looks. The bullying. And, in a way, it came back as an adult. People have this way of casually tearing you down, whether they realize it or not.
I’m talking about the people who refer to you as “big guy,” “big man,” etc. While you might think you’re just throwing around a fun nickname, what I’m hearing is, “You were fat. You are fat. You will always be fat.” You see, when you struggle with weight your entire life--and yes, it is a struggle--you internalize every single time people remind you of it. And every time a new reference comes, the rest of them light up your ears. It’s just the way it is. And it’s something we don’t talk about because we’re ashamed. I won’t speak for all big people, obviously. But I never told anyone because I was ashamed and thought I deserved it.
I didn’t, though. And that’s why the picture above that fills me with so much joy at my progress is also a cold reminder of how I’ve always looked to the world, at large. Because I can see the positive changes. I can see the healthier life. I can reach down and touch my toes for the first time that I can remember. But any time I look in the mirror or see a photo of myself, all I hear is the chorus of names I’ve been called throughout my life.
I don’t think it’ll ever go away, regardless of my weight. I hope it quiets down, though. I don’t want to hear that shit for the rest of my life. I’m way too pretty.
And besides, if I’ve felt this way my entire life, I can’t begin to imagine the torment women--for whom weight has been demonized by society for some very stupid reason--deal with on the daily.
Just be nice to each other. There’s no reason for any of us to be a dick.
Love you.