Are We Ready for the Truth? I’m Fat.

I am fat. That is neither a confession nor a plea for reassurance. It is not coded self-loathing nor an invitation for affirmation. It is a description of my body. Yet the moment I say it aloud, people rush to correct me, as though I have misidentified myself. “You’re not fat,” they insist, with the urgency of someone extinguishing a small fire. The discomfort is not mine. It is theirs.

Las Alcobas Hotel Staircase, Mexico City, Mexico

Fat is not an identity. It is not a character assessment or a moral condition. It is a descriptor of a body. The body is a vessel that carries who we are; it is not the entirety of who we are. When I describe my body as fat, I am not reducing myself. I am describing the state of the vessel.

We have constructed a culture in which self-acceptance is treated as a moral virtue—but only when it follows approved language. Love your body, we are told, but do not describe it in ways that unsettle others. Do not call yourself fat unless you meet some publicly agreed-upon threshold of visible obesity. Even then, love your body so fervently that you risk denying medical consequences. Do not say you want to lose weight. That suggests betrayal—of yourself, of your body, of the community built around body positivity.

Apparently, the betrayal is toward the excess itself, as though the excess—the “fat”—defines us.

The policing is not subtle. It arrives as accusation. If you call yourself fat, you must have low self-esteem. If you want to lose weight, you must be battling a distorted body image. If you acknowledge excess, someone will rush to reassure you that you are wrong about your own body. The implication is clear: self-description requires approval from the positivity police.

But what if “fat” is not an insult in my mouth? What if it is simply a neutral descriptor?

My body feels different at different weights. My joints protest under strain. My waist expands, and my center of gravity shifts. I find myself out of breath during routines that once felt effortless. I remember how my body once moved, and I miss that ease. When I say I am fat, I am not issuing a verdict on anyone else’s body. I am describing how my own feels to inhabit.

What unsettles me most is the reflex of reassurance—even in the face of reality. I have watched someone openly list the health issues they are experiencing because of excess weight—joint pain, chronic fatigue, rising blood pressure, glucose levels climbing into dangerous territory—only to be met with an immediate chorus of “You’re perfectly fine as you are.” The instinct is kindness. The effect can be denial.

For those who are medically obese, denial can be deadly. The American Society for Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery reports that excess weight is associated with hundreds of thousands of deaths annually in the United States. This does not mean weight is the sole cause in every case, but it is a significant contributing factor to cardiovascular disease, diabetes, certain cancers, and other life-threatening conditions.

My body is fat. I love myself enough to want it to be healthier, stronger, and free of pain. Wanting change in oneself is not betrayal. It is self-care. It is self-love. That is true whether the change is physical, emotional, professional, or relational. Change is not disloyalty to who we are. After all, change is the only constant in life, as Heraclitus observed.

If self-love requires that I pretend excess weight carries no consequences, then it is not love. It is avoidance dressed as virtue.

And that is the deeper question beneath body positivity. This is not only about weight. It is about truth. What kind of positivity prefers comfort over clarity? What kind of compassion refuses to name what is plainly harming us—whether in our bodies, our habits, our relationships, or our culture?

This is not an indictment of kindness. It is a call for intellectual honesty. Affirmation should not require the suspension of reality. Support should not require silence about consequence.

We call it kindness. But is it?

What if we respected one another enough to tell the truth—not with cruelty and not with shame, but with clarity? What if positivity were measured not in soothing words, but in healthier bodies, steadier minds, stronger boundaries, and lives that feel fully inhabited?

Are we prepared to live with that kind of honesty?

_____

More essays:

At the Intersection of Law & Humanity: Immigrants

Don't Bend It Like The Beckhams

Six Trash Bags to Clarity

Chaos Among Serendipity

Vermont & 8th

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