It all started with a slab of chocolate, eating all my blues away. I couldn’t survive a day without putting fat cakes down my oesophagus to the glow of my cheeks. Funny how I used to lick the remains of hot curry on the edges of my paper-cut lips with an indescribable type of pleasure.

The light from the fridge didn’t only make a yellow slash on the floor, it also brought a golden ray of happiness to my world and my intestines would rumble at the sight of all the goodies resting in the fridge. Appetising. I closed the door, opened the fridge, and paused my outside life. One spring morning, the world was bright and beautiful, thanks to the sunflowers growing, when I decided to step out of my door and greet the world. Weird…

Why was everyone flabbergasted at the sight of my wide hips, gigantic thighs, flabby belly and muscles? Was I abnormal? There was a nasty and disgusted look in their eyes every time I walked past them dressed in my…what used to be oversized tees but were now crop-tops that showed out all my gains, my plus-sized outfits that would fit an elephant. Yes, an elephant, they called me that. That was one of the negative comments they would throw my way every time I tried making a conversation, degrading me.

Being the empath I was, I absorbed all the everyday haughty praises they gave me and that’s exactly when I was disgusted by the elephant reflection in the mirror. I decided I would jog my body fat away to look pleasing to their eyes. I mean, all this fat had to be maintained, maybe the cool girls in the hood would finally hang out with me, and maybe this kind of beauty wasn’t acceptable.

I tortured myself for what seemed like forever, until one day I decided to free myself, wash out the paintings of me resembling a pig from my costly bedroom dressings. I decided to book them eye doctors, for their vision was not accurate. How could they not see I was a sight for their sore eyes?

I took my favourite outfit, which was wrinkled, and put it on; I cared less about how they would roll their eyes when I swayed my hips proudly with cheeks gleaming and a proud smile beaming on my face. They could say whatever and I remained a boss babe. The baby steps to realising my flawlessness were stable enough for me to go to the mall with a tight dress on without tripping over and falling at the first glance of a stranger.

I became slippery as a bar of wet soap. I didn’t have to accept myself for the masterpiece I was. I mean, I only accept cash for the latest fashion trends that I rock on a daily basis. A boy would tell me I was a big mama and I’d tell him I was a proud one that birthed him. A stranger would call me brave for wearing bum-sized shorts while I was this huge and I’d twerk and tell them my ass is heavy, it needs to breathe. Now that’s bravery.

This morning, every morning, and even at this hour, I’m taking a look at myself in the mirror and realising that I’m not a special case worthy of appreciation posts or your pity. I’m perfect and beautiful, phrrrrr.


Tell us: Why is self-love so important?