My story with weight is a little long.
It started when I was a child in elementary school.
I was fatter than my friends who were the same age as me.
They called me “fatty.”
It was a mark of shame that will always stay with me.
I didn’t know how to get rid of it.

My parents left me to live with my grandma when I was two years old.
Like all grandmas,
She only cared about feeding her grandchildren,
As a sign of love.
That’s when I started loving food.
The concept of being full was foreign to me,
Because she fed me almost all the time.

My father absolutely hated fat people.
And because I was fat,
Everything he said to me was discouraging.
“Enough eating. Don’t you ever get full?”
“You have to go on a diet.”
My mother didn’t defend me.
On the contrary,
She forced me to go on a diet at 10 years old.

I always felt hungry.
I used to eat behind their backs,
As if I were stealing.
I tried going on a diet around 20 times,
Over the course of my life.
I would lose weight,
Then regain it.
The problem was that I didn’t accept myself,
Or how I looked,
Until recently.

I decided to make peace with myself,
And accept the nature of my body,
And see that I was beautiful.
My parents have hurt me many times.
I used to wish that they would look at me with admiration and acceptance
Being fat isn’t something to be ashamed of.
It’s who I am,
And I love it.