Being born into a family with a Caribbean heritage comes with its own set of pro’s and cons, traditions and stereotypes such as any other culture does. The hovering pressure of getting a job, being able to read or not getting arrested are not the stereotypes that I am desperately trying to rebel against, just as much as it was not at the top of my list eagerly awaiting to fulfil either. On the plus side I’d never have to fake tan…
But no, the issue I wanted to rebel against was so much more hurtful and a lot harder to actually fulfil than ever anticipated. My inevitable genetic build.
A gift which had passed down broad shoulders, small breasts, a slow metabolism and an abnormally round face, making it impossible to wear any type of beanie. Despite all of this I’m still a proud member of the itty bitty titty committee. I grew up short, chubby and round however, I managed to master the use of my personality, which helped.
Unfortunately the streak of bad luck which was blessed upon me was not over. Life didn’t think I was disadvantaged enough by not being able to wear beanies in the winter, I had the joy of finding out I had Polycystic ovary syndrome when I turned sixteen. Somehow I came to terms with the fact that having kids would be difficult. In all honesty, I always wanted a career more. I am in no rush for the back lash of pregnancy. The saggy breasts, stretch marks and the inevitable peeing a little when you sneeze. You’ll just never be the same again after child birth….
The severity of it never really sunk in until I learnt that PCOS made you gain weight and realised that I could have an enormous gluteus maximus forever. I knew the size of my bottom definitely did not look like Beyonce’s. Something had to change.
Suddenly the seven stages of mourning began. The relationship I had with food was the worse break up of my life. Not to mention my UNGODLY rebound with exercise! I processed each stage, shock, denial, anger and from this I lead to bargaining, convincing myself pastry isn’t that bad for you. Then the guilt set in ten minutes after devouring a high calorie chicken and mushroom Pukka pie. If I always ate the same then I’d always look the same. To this day I’m still rebelling against ‘the fat gene’ and the body which seems fated to me. I never truly took it seriously but I aim to enter a career in fashion inspiring others by practising what I preach. Anything you work hard for in life will come in due time.
Five years later I’m more confident that ever and persist to make small lifestyle changes. As I continue to fight the battle of my predetermined genetic destiny and attempt to end the war between me and my XX chromosomes, I wonder if there is victory ahead. When I achieve that ideal body, will the battle truly ever be over? Or will I just become the true meaning of ‘a rebel without a cause’?
I guess I’ll have to let you know when I’m a size 8