Stained Glass 

I used to shy away from attention. I would keep my head down, avoid eye contact so I wouldn’t get noticed. I walked around like a ghost, somehow making my large, fat body melt into the background. 


I could hide behind any pillar, disappear behind any wall, and though my ample hips would protrude, they were invisible… I, was invisible. 


You have such a pretty face, she said to me… She was my thin, beautiful, popular cousin’s thin, beautiful, popular friend. 


The words stung like hot blades cauterizing the wound as they cut, numbing me with the smell of my own burning flesh… Flesh. Pounds of it boiling over, seething, bubbling and molten under my clothes. 


I went crazy for a while. I watched them be attractive, be desired, be lovable. I wondered what it would feel like to be lovable too. I thought surely, there must be no better feeling than that of being wanted. 

I opened myself to any attention people payed me. I searched for it wherever I could. Just flaunt what you’ve got, they said, so I flaunted my fear of being alone.


They came running, saliva dripping down their necks, drawn by the intoxicating aroma of a woman who believes she is worthless. I let them abuse me, use my fears to control me. I let them break what was left of the girl with the pretty face and send me to my knees in a cloud of dust and broken dreams. 


But I was lucky… As I peered into the rubble that was left after I crumbled, the sun shone and I saw a glint of light, dusty, cracked, but twinkling. 


I pulled away the debris, brushed off the dirt, frantically rummaging for those shimmering bits of myself that I might still be able to salvage, and the flecks of smoked light began to transform. 


Before my eyes, the shards came together to form spectacular patchwork panes, stained by my memories, my shattered hopes, and the beauty in my reflection that I had never been able to see. 

I watched myself become whole again, or arguably, for the first time, bound together with lead, only toxic if I let it in; and the colours, they were glorious, refracting the sunlight, swallowing the darkness, all the while changing any light that passed through, making it fascinating and magnetic. 


Coloured glass, the proof of my existence, brittle yet magnificent. Lead, the reminder of my past, reinforcing my fractured pieces and making me strong. 

When I rose to my feet, I was not the girl with the pretty face. I was the girl with the pretty colours, all shades of light bouncing off one another, emanating from the core of the body I once thought unworthy of shining. 

My design, intricate. My pattern, complicated, but mesmerizing, and my colours, true and indelible. 


Dress (custom) – K Couture Customizable Formal Wear – customize your own here
Trench, Eleven60 by Kierra Sheard- here 


Clutch, Aldo – similar 


Shoes, Shoes Of Prey – design your own here 

12 comments

  1. Cristy Ellen

    Oit of everything that I’ve read of your blog. This right here is a work of art. I can walk through this journey as you tell it, with my own playing out just so. Different people, different situations, but still the same all in one!! Truly not only beautiful on the outside but also the inside.

  2. Stephanie L

    Thank you for this post. So heartbreakingly honest and relatable to any large woman who believe-or has believed-she is unworthy of love, unworthy of belonging, unworthy of simply living in the world of thin, beautiful people.
    I envy your strength and your full acceptance of self.

  3. Janet Brisson

    Wow. What beautiful poetry. This post “stained glass” imagery really spoke to me.Thanks for sharing and showing that a fat woman can be stylish and wear bright colours. This post also showed your inner beauty.

    Sent from my iPad

Post a comment

You may use the following HTML:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>