Yes, I spelled that correctly. It’s what I call a guy from Tinder that you start dating. I almost called it “Dating While Fat” but that just seemed too cruel for even me. But to be honest, dating while being chubby is a whole different ballgame.  I have been small and I have been big. And yes, both come with dating difficulties because no matter what size you are you still have to weed through to find quality people. I mean, really weed. Like lawn mowers and weed eaters, and rakes and hoes type of weeding. And yes, speaking of hoes, you have to weed through them too. But at the end of the day, the person who had the biggest issue with my size was me. Because it changed how I felt and what I chose to put up with. It made me debate settling. I didn’t. But I thought a lot about how I might need to. And then there is the plethora of chubby chasers. Yes the ones that specifically want you because you are bigger. Do they only want me because I’m bigger and that is their fetish? Or is it just a preference like wanting a blonde? Or do they think I don’t have any confidence because of my weight so I would be the perfect person to use or settle for them? Hmmm. It’s a blast weeding through all that. You see, I’ve heard it all. And once I got on Tinder, I heard it all even more. I jokingly put my description as “cute face, chubby waist”. But it wasn’t entirely a joke. Because I needed a way to let the guys know that  I might have had a pretty picture of my face up, but that I didn’t have the perfect body to go with it. I thought using humor was the best way to address it. That’s the way I address anything awkward. But then came the guys with the comments that made it even more awkward. ” I like a chubby waist” or even worse “I like my white girls chunky”. Made we want to ask how he liked his black girls or Spanish girls. Is it only the white girls he liked chunky? Did he like his black girls skinny? Was it like how I ordered my meats? I like my steak rare but I like my hamburger medium well. Is it like that? I know, that’s a terrible comparison. But what else am I supposed to think about a guy that specifically says he likes his white girls chunky. And once again, it’s just laughable to me. Seems so ridiculous and yet it is the reality and what I am so used to.

I once asked a very athletic guy that I dated if he normally was into big girls. His response was “no matter what I answer you are going to be bothered by it”. You see, he was completely right. If he said he never went for a big girl then I would constantly be self-conscious comparing myself to all the skinny girls he was used to dating. And if he said he usually dated big girls then I would have assumed that he only wanted me because I was big and feel bad about myself because of that. It was lose lose. In that moment I realized I needed to stop thinking about why he chose me and shows him that he was lucky he chose me. I was a catch and he knew it. Even though he had an immaculate body from playing football, I had a soft and warm body that was worth appreciating too. My size was out there on front street and I had to stop looking at it like a hindrance and accept it as me. It didn’t define me. I couldn’t let it hinder me for another second.

It’s a Sunday evening and I’m sitting here thinking of what I am going to do with this blog. There is so much to write about…..being single, being 33, being a nurse, dating in this screwed up day and age, trying out a chemical-free life (which is laughable considering my love of hair dye and makeup), my faith, having my first panic attack ever last year, my insane Italian family….I mean, the list is endless. But then I go back to thinking about the “cute face, chubby waist” saying. Yes that is a from a Missy Elliot song. And it is me. Completely me. Because that is what people see. They don’t see any of those things I previously listed. They don’t see my soul. They just see an overweight girl that is pretty. I’ve heard it all. “You would be so pretty if you were skinny”. “You are pretty for a big girl”. This stupid stuff people say when trying to give you a compliment. Comes off more like a backhanded compliment. God forbid I can be pretty and not a size 4. Can’t you just say I’m pretty? And after all that, I realize I just said pretty way too many times in this blog. Because that doesn’t define me either. There is so much more to know. So as I sit here on this Sunday night, I know I am meant to write about it all. The highs, the lows, the resilience, the blows. Because this is life. My life. And this is what created me. I have learned so much and am still figuring it all out. That’s okay. That’s life. And maybe there is enough in me to help someone else. Maybe I will say something that you relate to. Maybe if we all become more open, then we will feel much less alone in this crazy world. We all hide our real feelings and struggles. And that is what leads us into shame or feeling that no one gets us. I heard a saying last week that keeps ringing in my head. “We are all a former something”. No matter who we are or where we came from, we all have a story to tell. So here we go. This Sunday night, as I lay on the couch typing, exhausted from a day of trying to repair my own washing machine and flooding my kitchen, cleaning house, making organic body butter, and running into a friend at the puppy park (of course, because I was in workout clothes and looking rough, since that is the only time you ever run into anyone!) I am ready to start sharing what needs to be said. Whether it is to benefit me or benefit you, that is to be determined. But it feels time to say it.