I’m Good Enough, I’m Smart Enough, and Doggone It people like me

When you’re a good looking white boy, with blond hair and a charming smile, words roll out of your tongue, like molasses. That was Jamie; he was that kid who was popular, good looking and well-liked. So he was excused for any silly questions that would blurt out of his mouth. As if he’d asked what’s on the lunch menu or did I give that kid a wedgie already? Kids would think hey that’s just Jamie. So when he asked how much I weighed, in front of my classmates, I was shocked but not surprised.

“How much do you weigh?” casually probing again, there I stood looking at him blankly, thinking do I lie or just tell the truth. “Come on…” he’d say trying to get a rise out of me. Frozen, the only thing I could do was look for some support from the girl standing next to me; luckily she took my cue, said: “that’s rude Jamie.” But he replied back, “Oh how heavy could you be 120 max.” Which goes to show you, men (and boys) don’t know much when it comes to women and their weight. Feeling faltered and anxious all at once, I exclaimed it was none of your business and sat back down on my chair to shut him up.

I hated myself that day. But it started well before high school when I was an adolescent, having moved to a foreign place with new friends, new sights, and new customs. Part of those traditions would include late night snack gorging on Doritos and hamburgers. Somedays I’d wake but my parents still asleep from working late hours, so I’d indulge in the occasional ice cream for breakfast.

With all this self-care, I grew and grew, vertically and horizontally, but that didn’t stop me, it just made me want more. My parents noticed and shamed me telling me that I was too fat, not knowing how to stop their child from growing in every which direction. I outgrew my classmates, I outgrew my clothes, and I grew myself. To the point of hating myself, I couldn’t see the end of this vicious cycle of comfort eating. If I had a bad day at school, I’d run home with a bag of chips in one hand, soda in the other and go to my hiding place. In the closet, it was dark, contained, but most importantly no spectators. Numbing myself of all the bullying and shaming that came with being a chubby girl with a funny accent.

Looking back I wished I had someone to look up too, but then again, maybe I wouldn’t be who I am now. It goes to show how strong our young minds can me, overcoming life’s obstacles. We all do it; somehow we cope with them. Some are lucky they can turn to family/friends, but I had my chocolate bars, ice cream sandwiches, and neon colored chips to keep me company.

Hate is a strong word, but if you grew up fat, it takes a lifetime to heal from all the fat shaming, or at least that’s what I have experienced. I may not be the weight I want to be but at this point being happy and healthy is more important. Let’s face it I only have this one body and if it’s happy and functioning my psychosis can shut the hell up! Enough already, torturing myself thinking that one morphed body type is ideal for oneself is overrated and stupid.
Gone are the days of lusting over Kate Moss, Cindy Crawford, or Naomi Cambell. The young girls now have Ashley Graham and other body positive ladies to look up to. Ms. Graham posted on her Instagram, a photo of her sitting on the beach while vacationing, showing off her lumps, bumps & cellulite as if they were a badge of honor. I’m there right with her sipping on a colorful cocktail when my brain tells me I’m not good enough, and she politely pushes aside all my negative thoughts.

Fashion Don’t – FOB addition

When you’re fresh off the boat, no one tells you what to wear, but more importantly, no one tells you what not to wear. Of course, I can see now why it wasn’t my parent’s top priority to make sure that I make the glam squad or be one of the popular girls in school. My parents like many other parents were busy trying to put a roof over our heads and food on the table, so a girl had to make do with hand-me-downs. To be perfectly honest my parents would have been happy if a potato sack fit me.

Here is a school portrait of me in the Fouth grade, Little House on the Prairie called, and they want their dress back.

Here is another one, before I moved to the states, I look like a goddamn communist, ready to work a full 8 hours, pitching hay.

This picture practically looks staged, as if I knew running for government office was in my future. Proving to the people that I too can have a real good time – Wheee.

If anything can be said about the young me is that she was consistent. The girl sure loved her young Republican look, and if there are two things that the teenage Republicans are good for are 1. Alex P. Keaton, and 2. you can bet your ass a button up shirt can be pulled off by any aspiring chubby yuppie. Despite not knowing what Republican meant back then, I figured it made for a cool look. As for me now, not much has changed, can’t go wrong with the whole American psycho look. Tailored made suits, slick back hair, and enough coke to last a lifetime sounds like a dream come true. So if I had a time machine to go back and change things around for my portly self, maybe I’d have her start on the coke earlier, because a coked out look is very chic. But then again, I don’t think I would like myself after learning the true definition of a Republican.

Inner girly girl

Most of my life I’ve been a tomboy, but on the inside, I’ve been and always have been a die-hard night cream-ing addict. It all started innocently enough; a young girl reads one too many Sassy, your Seventeen and there you have it. Some of the headlines read, “Don’t forget your sunscreen”, and “How to keep that youthful glow.” But, once I moved on from the Sassy to the Vogue, it was “Don’t forget your night cream” and “How to get rid of dark circles,” it’s a never ending cycle if you’re a woman of this planet.

Endlessly looking for the next “cure-all” to fix all for my imperfections, at times I do look back and consider if my mother could have also instilled these ideas. My flaws were always part of my mom’s insecurities; I guess it was passed on to her from her mother. My mother and I share the same blemishes, freckles as the Westerners would view them. During my adolescent, she would look at me in a loving way and say “we” should have them removed. Fortunately having grown up in Western culture, I quite liked my freckles. In fact, I was always proud of my freckles, and it made me feel unique, like Pippi-Longstocking.

But Pippi-Longstocking can’t help me now; I know who I am, and I’m okay with that, a cream addict that’s constantly on the hunt. That is until recently, I’ve come across something that’s been popping up on the web and publications, can you guess what it is? Collagen, well collagen powder to be more exact. Vital Proteins Collagen Peptides are “short-chain amino acids that naturally bind and regenerate the collagen in your body. Areas that benefit from Collagen Peptides include your hair, nails, bones, skin, cartilage, and joints. Derived from pasture-raised collagen protein, these peptides are soluble in cold liquids as well as hot.” healthyhabitsliving.com

I’ve only been on this for about a two week now but already see much improvements, enough so that I think I can downgrade my face cream. In just three days I’ve seen my smile lines fill in, no cream or fillers have ever done that, and trust me I’ve used everything.

**Here are some recent purchases:

Kiehl’s

Shiseido

Lancome

ROC

Neutrogena

REN

And the list goes on, some of these products made my face feel a little bit hydrated, but they never got rid of lines on my face. Vital Proteins surprisingly does as it states, firming the skin, and reducing wrinkles. Not only did it improve my skin, but it also helps with my joints.

Maybe there is hope for me after all; I can honestly feel more comforted by the fact that I don’t need a miracle cream anymore. All these years I’ve been using the creams as an emotional crutch, if that makes sense, I know I’ll never live up to the standard of conventional beauty or that of my mother’s idea of beauty. But if I can let go the creams, maybe I can just learn to expect myself. The collagen, on the other hand, I’ll keep a hold on, it’s not just for beauty reason but also for the health benefits. I’ll keep testing out the powder and see what other benefits come about since I’m only using it for two weeks now.