When I was 15, my family moved to northern Ontario to live in Sault Ste Marie. At this stage in my life I had just started high school, I had a girlfriend at the time and a group of close friends. I skipped a few classes, started to hang out with the older kids and generally felt pretty good about the foundation I was building. So when the topic of having to pick up my life and move came up I was opposed to it from the start. I was angry with my family, heartbroken about losing my friends and scared of having to start from scratch. Those emotions stuck with me like an excess growth throughout my time there. I went to school, but I didn't fit in because I didn't want to. I made friends but it was all at a distance. I purposely isolated myself from everybody because it wasn't my school, these weren't my friends and this wasn't my home. The other students picked up on this and after only two months of being enrolled I was bullied relentlessly. I was scared to go to school, so I didn't. I stayed at home and refused to leave the house. I felt alone and angry, so I started to eat. And eat. And eat. I fueled my depression with a heavy eating disorder to help cope with the frustration I felt. What boggles my mind the most was the denial that I felt. I refused to acknowledge myself for two years. I never looked in to a mirror, I never tried to go back to school or even leave the house. To me, all those things were just parts of the past. I was trying to move forward by ignoring the obstacles that were in place. I was stuck in myself.
To this date, the hardest day of my life was when I acknowledged what I had become. I remember getting out of the shower and for the first time in two years looking in to the mirror. I remember standing there completely naked and staring at myself exposed. Turning sideways, looking down, trying to see who I was from all angles. I remember putting my hands on my stomach, but just for a few seconds. It was that second of contact with my own body when everything hit me all at once. All the denial that I felt washed away and I was left with the reality of who I was. I haven't cried that hard since that moment. From then on, I promised myself to improve in all aspects of my life. I started with my body, exercising constantly with cardio and core workouts while doing my best to fight the temptation to give in to the cravings I felt. I started going to a different school, I tried to leave the house more. Slowly but surely, my life started to back to me. I felt like I was in control again. I was losing weight and gaining friends. Soon after that transition, my family moved back to southern Ontario and picked up the reigns we left in Guelph. We struggled for a long time, but I was happy to be home. I continued with the goals I set for myself, to improve and become a stronger person. I never lost my drive for exercise or to meet new people. I went back to my old school and felt like I had a fresh start on my schooling. I got in to skateboarding which quickly ignited as a passion and means of expression, opening brand new doors for me to make friends and create memories. I made people laugh, found jobs, met girls and had my heart broken. All of these experiences I attribute to the first spark of progress in my life, to change my body. To take control of the skin that I am. It was hard, still is. Some days were harder than others, but I always found the strength to push through the pain and fatigue. It was always there, an unseen motivator for one more rep, one more circuit. And while attractiveness is subjective, the first time someone called me sexy I didn't even know how to react, because I believed it. It was wonderful. I did it.
When I see a fat person I feel pangs of sympathy, never
pity. I understand the frustration and the guilt they feel. All the
emotions of what that excess weight brings affects anyone in that state
of living. Hell, even the people who pose for those motivational posters
feel it. Blessed are the few who have the confidence to admit
themselves to the world, but where I see the faults in the entire fat
acceptance campaign is this: it is easier for the world to accept you
than it is to accept yourself. Behind the words each poster hosts is
still a person struggling with accepting themselves and daunted by the
struggles of change. I know this because I struggled too. I also know
that it's possible. It can be done and you can do it. Maybe it sounds
harsh. It's cruel to tell anyone to improve themselves and I've gotten a
ton of heat for it in the past but deep down, I know it's what they
want. It's what I wanted as well. To feel confident with their body and
proud of who they are. We all want to be loved, but we should start with
loving ourselves first.
If you have any questions regarding anything I said or even wish to contact me for personal reasons you can reach me at taylor.ciccotelli@gmail.com
