The Internalized Fatphobia of it all

Content warning: This post discusses fatphobia, body image struggles, body dysmorphia, low self-esteem, and other related issues. If these topics are difficult for you, please feel free to skip this post.

I don't ever talk about this particular thought process. But, in the past few years -- probably around the same time that my grandmother passed away and I got engaged -- I started talking to my inner child.

12-year-old Gracie loved that we still performed. That we were getting married and planning a wedding. She cried over losing Grandma, but was amazed that we got to have her until age 32. Mostly, she thought things turned out okay.

But, there was one aspect of her life as an adult that 12-year-old Gracie wasn't too happy about. In fact, she was downright disappointed and embarrassed and ashamed. She couldn't believe how fat we were.

Of course, at the time, I tried reassuring her that everything was still okay. There were so many people in our lives who love us. No more middle and high school bullies. No more fake friends. Some old friends stayed for the long haul, and others have changed our lives beyond our wildest dreams. We went to college! We worked at Disney World! No one cares that we're fat! But... she cared. She cared a lot. And so, for a long time, I felt like someone who deeply disappointed her inner child. And I couldn't even admit that fact out loud.

I wish that wasn't the case, that I was as body-positive as I portrayed to the rest of the world. Recently, I told my therapist that I genuinely thought that I didn't care what I looked like. As I've talked about before, I showed up fat. I had no clue that my quality of life would change with significant weight loss (just as my parents always said it would). But based on the number of mirror and timer, full-body selfies I've taken of late, I did care. Because I like how I look now a whole lot better than I did in the "before times." And those feelings have nothing to do with health and everything to do with appearance.

It wasn't until after I'd started losing weight that I realized that my inner child was no longer disappointed in me. And that was heartbreaking. How could my inner child be so superficial? What about my husband? My wedding? My friends? My awards in college? The performances, the lead roles, the Master's degree, the press features, the work and friends in local politics? Did that count for nothing with a 12-year-old version of myself? And then it occurred to me: we're talking about a 12-year-old girl. Tweens ARE superficial.

But in discussing all of these realizations with my therapist, I made another confession. My inner 12-year-old wasn't the only fatphobic one. Now that I've lost over 80 pounds, I notice fat people. I didn't used to notice them before, when I was just as fat. I want to say that I don't celebrate when I'm not the fattest person in the room, but that's a lie. And it all came to a head recently as I was simply scrolling TikTok. I came across a video of an influencer... and my first thought was... "Damn, she's fat."

WHOA. Full stop. I vowed that I was never going to become one of those mean girl formerly fat people whom I used to hate in the old days. I'm empathetic to people who weigh a lot more than I do... right?

But the truth of the matter is that first off, I have always been someone who never wanted anyone to feel the pain in my life that I've felt -- not just related to weight and food noise. I see a fat person now and I worry about that person's quality of life. I don't want that person to feel the same pain that I felt. Maybe I shouldn't think that way; I will always believe that the Fat Person Experience is not universal -- so maybe, that hypothetical person does not experience the same diminished quality of life that I did? And is it even my place to worry about it?

To go deeper, I've realized that my internalized fatphobia existed long before I lost 80 pounds -- I just notice it now because I couldn't allow myself to admit to it before. If I did not experience fatphobia myself, my 12-year-old inner self wouldn't have been so disgusted by what I looked like at age 32. If I expressed my internalized fatphobia in the "before times," I'd be full-on admitting that I was phobic against my very own body.

Clearly, I have a lot of work to do. It is mind-blowing to go from weighing over 300 pounds in 2024, to weighing 235 pounds in 2025. In a little more than 14 months, my body and my face have changed to the point that I don't recognize myself in the mirror on occasion. I feel fabulous, but also feel so confused. I'm grieving for how much quality of life I lost, embracing how good I feel now, and figuring out how to love and accept both versions of myself. But I placed far more of my own self-worth on my appearance than I ever realized, and so did 12-year-old Gracie. Admitting my own internalized fatphobia is a step. Figuring out how to be happy about my appearance, and celebrate my health and accomplishments -- while also not becoming fatphobic, is a nuanced, slippery slope.

I'm allowed to lose weight. I'm allowed to feel good about how I look and feel. I'm even allowed to speak to a close person in my life, in an intimate setting, and express concern for that person's health for any reason. But I'm not allowed to comment on anyone else's body. And I'm truly sorry for the times I did.