Trigger Warning: this article talks about Internal and External Fatphobia, Abuse, Sexual Assault, and Domestic Violence.
Hi there, and let me introduce myself. My name is Ms. K, and I love to help those who are Fat, Female-Identified people unlearn harmful, fatphobic behavior about their bodies. By overcoming these fatphobic behaviors, learned from society, family, and themselves, they can become comfortable exploring their sensuality and sexuality in a safe environment. As a Black, Fat, Bisexual Woman, I want to help you understand that I know where you are coming from when you come to me for help, to know that I have encountered some of the same behavior, abuse, and actions from others because I, like you, am Fat. I completely understand dealing with some of the stereotypes encountered as a Fat, Femme person in this world. I will also tell you how I reclaim the word Fat, and reclaim parts of myself that others told me did not exist because of my Fatness.
My first memory of being a Fat person was from my own family.
As long as I can remember, I was the butt of jokes from certain family members who thought it was their job to remind me about this – even as a little kid. My maternal grandmother, who was a small woman, would make snide remarks about my weight, such as: “Lawdy, you are getting fat, you do not need that second plate of food,” and then later get pissed if I didn’t get a second helping of food – or dessert. There were also messages from well-meaning female family members who thought they were being helpful by telling me that I need to “lay off” certain types of food at family gatherings. I always ignored them and kept eating what I wanted, despite the passive-aggressive comments I would hear under their breath or when they spoke to my mom who was a single parent.
My mother had her own issues with her fatness as well. I was often punished for issues surrounding my weight, and even my personality. I would get punished for things because I would get confused about certain chores that were assigned to me, or when I questioned what I was told to do. To both my mom and my grandmother, it came across as me being a “smartass,” and that I needed a whipping. I was confused and thought I did something bad. My brother, who is 6 years older than me and was my protector, always told me that I didn’t do anything wrong, but she didn’t explain things well to me at that time. Looking back, and talking to my mom about her own childhood experience, she used her weight as a shield from the pain caused by the abuse she received from those around her as a child, and to a certain degree as an adult. My mom put me on diets on and off as a kid so I would not have to endure a lot of the stuff she endured when she was becoming a teenager. Imagine being told by your mom that you are a beautiful young lady, but you will “need to lose some weight if you want to be popular in high school and get a boyfriend.” Looking back, this was a slap in the face to my self-esteem, especially since I started puberty early thanks to having PCOS. I looked like a fucking 16-year-old in the 7th grade. And the school I was in didn’t make this better.
Imagine being told by your mom that you are a beautiful young lady, but you will “need to lose some weight if you want to be popular in high school and get a boyfriend.”
My school years were hell for this Fat Femme. I have been going to speech therapy since I was 3 and a half years old, which in my opinion both hindered my social skills and expanded my circle of friends. I was also still Fat and started to “develop” early, right in front of my classmates and teachers. So I had a BIG target on my back from my schoolmates and teachers, between being Fat, developing early, and having a speech disorder. Boys would pull my pigtails, snap my bra straps, start fights with me, and say nasty things while rubbing themselves on me. When I reported this behavior to my teachers or principal, I was told that “boys are just being boys,” and to ignore it. I was also told that if I “didn’t dress the way I did in school” that I would not be drawing so much attention to myself. They blamed me, saying that I dressed nice and was giving the boys the idea that I was “fast,” because Fat girls don’t dress like that otherwise. Anytime I did have the confidence to do something different, people would compliment me but then turn around and say I was just showing off, because Fat folx don’t do that shit.
I remember my mother and grandmother visiting the school to address the matter, and I saw they were played lip service by the school system, being told that they will deal with the problem, or claiming that I was over-exaggerating the situation. What was worse, my poor brother got into fights, protecting me when we went to school together. With girls, they picked on my clothing, the way I spoke, and because I had breasts. I didn’t trust a lot of them when I did make friends, because they would start rumors about me and start fights. For the most part, I hated school until I went to an all-girls school by choice. I didn’t have to go through hell with the bullies I dealt with. I still got picked on, but not to that severity. And by the way, at this time I was going to therapy for manic depression, which is now known as Bipolar 2. So yup, I was a fucked up mess mentally and physically. With all of these mixed messages coming from family, school, and society, I began to make bad choices in order to be accepted and loved by others which put me in harm’s way.
So imagine, as a Black, Fat, Femme, being told that no one will ever love you for who you are and that you should just be happy that someone paid attention to you.
In other words, just shut up and smile if someone pays attention to you and goes out with you in public. I dated both sexes, which sometimes made people assume that I was just looking for the attention. Many times, the people I did date ended up taking advantage of my shame about being Fat, and about already having been in abusive relationships. This just continued to lead to me being used and knowing in the back of my head that these people were not a good fit for me. Sometimes it led to being in dangerous situations that could have had me in trouble with the law or even threatened my life. The worst of these was S, my ex-husband, who I met when I was 19. I was in college, and very ambitious, with a double major and working 2 to 3 jobs to support myself, as my mom and brother were doing their best to take care of my tuition. S and I met at a meet-up for our major and became friends. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he already had his sights on me and was trying his best to get as close to me as possible. A good friend thought it was strange how he was trying to wedge himself into my life, and warned me to stay clear of him. I didn’t listen, and when I let my guard down, he began to show his true colors.
I thought I had met the love of my life, when in fact I had met the devil who took me to hell and back without consent. S, my ex, would do his best to be my partner in class projects to get more alone time with me. I liked the attention, but at times I questioned this in the back of my head, especially when he got upset that I ended up with another classmate, especially if they were male. Someone once told me that S was upset because he really wanted me to be his study partner on a project. To be honest, it meant that he wanted to control me. We finally went on our first date after he dropped out of school. I was working full-time and going to school, and that summer, it seemed like he was always hanging out at my job. He guilted me into going out with him because he had cancer and wanted to spend a romantic day with me. I fell for it, and at the end of the date, he professed his undying love for me and told me he’d had a crush on me for a long time. He told me that he wanted to let me know now since he was getting chemo and may not have a lot of time left. Looking back, we took things seriously from the get-go. We spent as much time as we could with each other, and I began to feel that I could explore my sexuality and finally explore kink finally with someone I trusted, without fear of being judged. However, I was wrong in so many ways, and he began to use this against me.
The abuse started less than two months into our relationship and it blinded me.
It started with isolating me from my friends and family. I had to let him know my schedule so he would know where I was, and know I was not seeing another guy. Next, he began gaslighting me about my kink and about being bi. He would tell me over and over that I was a fat ass, that I was a fucking freak, and wonder “why in the hell” he was having sex with me. He would tear me down and then build me back up again. After 4 months, the physical and sexual abuse started. I made sure no one knew what was going on, and felt very ashamed that I got into an abusive relationship like this. At the time I thought it was my fault, due to my wanting to be sensual and explore my sexuality – but really, it was because S had some major issues and wanted someone to take it out on.
Less than a month after we eloped, I left S. I left with only a little clothing, the money I hid from him, and my class books. I first stayed at the domestic violence shelter and then stayed with my good friend who warned me about him. S left 2 weeks later, after I contacted his parents to come and get him. By that point, he had destroyed things that meant the world to me including my viola – and my self-esteem. When folx found out what happened, I was taken aback by their reaction. Some of those mutual friends knew what he was like and thought I was the person to change him. Some were disappointed that I didn’t try to work things out, saying that I should be “glad I had a man.” Others claimed I deserved the abuse from him, because of the way I dressed, because I was sensual and open sexually. They were disgusted that anyone, but especially a Black, Fat, Femme like me, wanted these things – which, of course, I didn’t deserve, which makes this even more fucked up.
Some of those mutual friends knew what he was like and thought I was the person to change him. Some were disappointed that I didn’t try to work things out, saying that I should be “glad I had a man.”
After I left S, I fell hard into a deep spiral of depression and made some really bad decisions about myself and how I treated my body. I knew I needed to get my act together, and I didn’t know how until a series of events made me realize that I needed to change or else. Turning 30 was a big turning point for me, and a couple of things set off the change. At that time, I decided moving back to Nashville was the safest thing for me and my mental health. I decided to do something about my asthma when I moved back home because I was sick of the constant trips to the ER and doctors. I wanted to be able to move and dance freely without being out of breath. So, I decided to train for a half marathon to run with my brother: my muscles were sore and my time was 4 hours, but I was very happy and I did it again with another friend because it felt good to move.
I started going out and finding people I could vibe with, and I found a new kink community. You could say things were looking good for me as I was moving past some of the shit I went through, however, I still felt ashamed and like a fat loser. I still had the same thought process of no one wanting me and, and I still let others treat me like I was their dirty secret, just because I so badly wanted to explore my sensual side deeper. I was only taking care of my physical health and not my mental health at all. I was ignoring red flags with men and women I dated, especially when it came to sex. I did use protection for my body, but not for my mind. I was drinking heavily to numb my depression and the flashbacks of abuse I endured from S and other folks who I dated after him. I was good at masking and fooling people into thinking I had my shit together when I didn’t, and my manic episodes cost me the money and stability that I needed. But somehow I was still here, and I had found people that were actually concerned for me. I realized that these were my people, especially the night of my 30th birthday.
My ex-roommate and I went to my brother’s for my birthday dinner. We had a good time and I had a few drinks. I went back to our apartment to get ready for a night on the town with my friends. To be honest, I do not remember a lot of what happened that night, but they did. They remember me drinking and taking shots from people who wanted to wish me a happy birthday. Somehow, my friends managed to make sure I didn’t go home with a stranger or make a complete ass of myself. I do remember that at one point I blacked out – this was not the first time it happened, and I was so lucky that I was with people I trusted. The next day I woke up with a pitcher of ice water next to my bed with some Tylenol, a cup, and a note to call my little brother, H, to let them know I was awake. I didn’t have a hangover, nor did I feel sick to my stomach.
I called H and asked what happened. He stated that I was “a lot” that night, and the group got really scared that I might have had alcohol poisoning. They kept giving me water between drinks and made sure I didn’t walk away with anyone. I was so fucking embarrassed to hear about how I acted and to make things worse, I knew this was not the first time H or anyone in the group had seen me act like this. I apologized to him and called everyone else who was with us that night that I remember. I spent the rest of the day thinking about how low I hit to black out from drinking to numb the pain. I realized that I really needed to make some changes if I was going to stay around and not let anything like this happen to me again. I also realized that after 20-plus years of doing what people said, being shamed for being fat, being shamed for trying to be a sensual woman, and hiding who I really was, I had enough. I took it as a sign that I needed to change my mindset and get help for my mental health.
I also realized that someone out there had probably gone through similar shit. So I asked for help and found the answer to some of my problems… As my mental health improved, I began advocating for myself more.
First off, it is not easy to unlearn old habits that help us numb the pain. But, once you do unlearn them, getting over the pain gets much easier. First off, I cut down on my drinking a whole lot. I’m pretty much a lightweight when it comes to drinking. If that little voice in my head doesn’t send me a reminder to cut that shit out, then someone I trust will poke me in the shoulder to remind me that I probably don’t need that other drink. Having an accountability partner is great and it works both ways. So if we are out and I think they may get into trouble, I poke them too. That way we both stay the fuck out of trouble. I also started seeking therapy and getting back on my psych meds. It took a few tries, but I think I found the right therapist to speak to, and a psychiatrist who listens to me to make sure I am on the right medication. As my mental health improved, I began advocating for myself more – and at first, some people in my friends and family thought it was a joke. It was a joke to them until they realized I was setting boundaries and no longer seeking their approval. It also helped me in finding better care for my physical health and wanting to make better choices for the people I wanted to be around. The journey has not been perfect, but it helped me realize there were others like me, and I found my calling as a coach as other Fat Femmes asked me about sex, kink, how I dress, and where I seek pleasure.
So, in conclusion, I know I can help you unlearn some of the bullshit that comes from the shame of being a Fat Femme.
I can help you on this journey to slowly accept yourself and be a sexual being. I can help you understand that you can not be body positive all the damn time and you can’t just fake that confidence. Faking it does not take away the shame of feeling unloved, not sexual, and not worthy of being you. I would not wish my journey on anyone, especially with the little outside support I received from others. I want to help you realize that as a Fat, Femme Person that you deserve to seek out pleasure, be sensual, accept the good and bad days being in your body, and do it in a safe place with me as your guide. Again my name is MsK and I hope you click on the button below for a quick chat to see if we can work on those goals and help you learn to be fierce.
