Rhonda Stapleton
Looking a little chunky, aren’t ya?
Before that guy in junior English class said that to you, you’d had some fleeting worries about your thighs being a little too big. Your hips just a touch too curvy. But you’d just grown into a real bra size the summer before. You felt feminine, confident, strong.
Right up to that comment.
Those words are going to haunt you for a long time. Every time you look at yourself in the mirror, you’ll hear his voice: “Looking a little chunky, aren’t ya?”
Not that you want to admit to yourself or to anyone else that one stupid guy has the power to hurt you like that. Especially one you had a crush on—a fleeting emotion that crashed and burned point-two seconds after he said that to you. But they’re just words, right? That’s what you told yourself that day as you bit back the sting, blinked away the tears, slipped into your seat, and stared blindly ahead, your cheeks burning hot with humiliation. They’re just words, and words can’t hurt.
You never saw yourself the same way again after that, though. Your lens was broken.
I look back on you, remembering the way you studied every inch of your thighs, your butt, your belly in the mirror day after day, sucking in, wishing you were skinnier. And I feel sick that your view of yourself became skewed because of what one (thoughtless) person thought of you.
Because after that, you didn’t dress for fun, for flair. You dressed to accentuate the good and conceal the bad.
It wasn’t about personal statement. It was camouflage. It was illusion.
What’s even worse is that you weren’t chunky. You were healthy. You were curvy. You were attractive. But none of that mattered, because someone who didn’t care about you or your feelings blurted out one a sentence he probably forgot about five minutes later.
Not you, though. You lost almost all of your power and your self-confidence shortly after that. And you didn’t stop there—even into adulthood you were surrounded by images of beautiful women on TV, in movies, magazines, real life. Because beauty is a girl’s greatest asset, isn’t it? Perfect face, perfect body. Perfect soul. And you longed, you ached to look like them.
You have a daughter now. She’s fifteen—a sophomore. She has a free spirit, dresses how she pleases, doesn’t give a damn what others think of her. She’s healthy, she’s curvy, she’s attractive. But deep down you worry that some stupid boy is going to say something to mess that up.
You can’t change the cruel things people say. But don’t ever, ever forget that beauty goes beyond what you look like. Your beauty is in your heart. You care deeply about others. You smile freely. You’re generous with your time and spirit. There isn’t a damn thing anyone else can say about you that will change that.
Embrace your curves. They reflect your unique femininity. Your body is amazing! It will carry you to New York City, New Orleans, Oahu, San Francisco. It will bear your stresses, bear your children. It gives the most amazing hugs. It loves belly dancing, booty grinding, doing the sprinkler. It loves to walk, to hold hands, to kick leaves, and swim through big piles of snow.
No one has power over you. Not now, not ever. So please, step away from the mirror and step back into your life. You’ll thank me for it later.
Rhonda Stapleton has a bachelor’s degree in English, creative writing, and a master’s degree in English. She is the author of the teen romantic comedy trilogy Stupid Cupid (2009), Flirting with Disaster (2010), and Pucker Up (2010). You can find these books in the new three-in-one bind-up, Struck (2011). Rhonda also works as an acquisitions and developmental editor for Carina Press. To learn more about her and her books, visit RhondaStapleton.com.