I have always been a large-sized person, but the language others (including myself) have used to describe my body have changed with my age, the times, and my understanding of myself. Family and friends started with descriptive terms for me that indicated I might “grow out of my fatness” such as baby fat and then I became chubby. When they realized I wasn’t losing the weight I remember being called fatso and big mama (even though I was only 7 and not a mama!). At home and with other adults, my body became something we didn’t talk about– silent and hidden…hidden in the phrases, “go outside and get some air/exercise”, and “do you really want a second helping of food?”(everyone else had a second helping!). In stores when clothing shopping, I was relegated to small sections of the rack affectionately labeled Pretty-Plus and Plus-Sized.
As I became a teen, the words took on a comparative nature–in comparison to smaller, more “normal sized” young women: overweight, heavy, thick, big-boned, big girl and large.
As an adult, my body/weight has become synonymous with poor health. The words used to describe my body have become Type 2, heavy, obese and unhealthy.
Regardless of the name, there has always been a word for my body, usually not given or embraced by me. This constant labeling of my body by others has led me search for my own “name” –a healthy way to identify myself. I settled on large. It seemed to work for a while. For at least 5 years, I described myself as a large sized black woman—thinking that sounded totally real, dignified and complex. However, a male friend of mine (who probably was not aware of the history of language or weight and my plight with it ) playfully (we had teased each other about other issues before) introduced me to someone by accidentally reversing my chosen label of large sized black woman to say his big black woman friend—that was not okay with me! and I told him so with much anger.
But what had made me so angry? I think his “big black” comment had re-ignited my frustration with this life long battle with words. Each of these words BIG, BLACK and WOMAN were loaded with so much conflicted oppression, stereotyping and emotion that I couldn’t accept them as my introduction–even in a playful way. It was not his fault–but my irritation and struggle with this weighty language had finally bubbled over! What do you call a large woman without, in some way, shape, or form calling her fat? And Is FAT okay?
After years of soul searching, reading, crying, and yes, anger— finally I discovered an acceptable word for my body.
I have come to describe myself as Abundant.
Abundant represents how I see myself—full of gifts and possibilities—and I carry extra weight—but I think I carry it well…
Little Fat Black Girl 