Why this chubby little girl won.

I've always struggled with my weight.

It didn't really affect me until middle school. Suddenly, I went from the chubby little girl that loved to read to the big, fat target in the hallway. I was made fun of by kids who probably didn't receive the right kind of love at home and definitely didn't know the weight of their words. I would spend hours at home, crying and writing little seventh-grade poems about acceptance, kindness, and love. I would devise and try to enact weight loss plans, but they never made a noticeable difference, I would get discouraged, and ultimately, give up. Mostly, I would worry that my weight would stand in the way of me finding love.

I watched as all the other girls went from boyfriend to boyfriend, told stories about making out at so-and-so's party, yet avoided all contact with their latest "boyfriend" at the dance. I had my secret crushes, usually became good friends with them, and often provided them with advice to get the girl of their dreams.

These feelings of insecurity continued into high school and college. The cycle repeated itself: insecurities, unrequited feelings, tears of unintentional rejection, and concerns that I'd always be alone. Inevitably, I became more comfortable in my own skin. I wouldn't say comfortable, I would say accustomed to my own skin. I was never comfortable with my weight.

I'm still not.

In fact, I think about it every single day. On my way to the gym, in the kitchen as I make myself lunch, at the store when I search for clothes that actually look like someone my age would wear them, it haunts me. It's something I'm constantly working on, but something I've almost come to accept.

This is me, all of me. I'm a 'big girl' and although I'll never be happy about it, I'm starting to be okay with it.

Last night, I was talking to Wheat about getting made fun of in middle school. I told him that a boy in my grade used to chant, "Brittany J., Brittany J., you're so fat you're in my way." I can still imagine exactly how he sounded when he said it and how he and his friends would laugh as they passed me.

I knew Wheat would sympathize with me. I knew he'd kiss my cheek, hold my hand, and tell me, "They were just stupid little boys."

But he didn't.

He got angry. He looked upset, almost to the point of tears. He crashed his fists down on the bed and asked, "Why would he say that? Why would he say that to someone so beautiful?"

...and I started crying. I started crying because I found someone who thinks I'm beautiful, no matter how much I weigh. I found someone who loves me so much that he wanted to punch a little kid for making me cry fourteen years ago. I found someone who sees beyond my pant size, someone who loves me for my heart and my mind, someone who defies every stereotype of what a young man supposedly wants in a partner. I found someone whose love is slowly (ever so slowly, despite my frequent setbacks) soothing my insecurities and making me feel beautiful and confident.

...and I started crying because the 12-year-old version of me wasted a lot of tears, thinking she'd end up alone.