My name is Sophie Bernstein, and I had just realized I was fat. And I don’t mean Hollywood fat, like Renee Zellweger in Bridget Jones’s diary. I’m talking real life fat. Suddenly, the only people on a screen whose body types I could relate to were found on NBC’s Biggest Loser.
I wasn’t even sure when or how or why this had happened, but it had. I knew I was a big girl; I had been all my life and I had even embraced it. I didn’t own a scale, I ate whatever I wanted and wore whatever I wanted. I had a smoking hot fiancé who caused the mouths of my friends and coworkers to salivate just at the very thought of his perfectly chiseled chest poking out from under his perfectly pressed dress shirts. I was lucky enough to be clever, and was working my way into the world of writing quite successfully. With writing, the size of the fingers typing is not anywhere near as important as the depth of the words. And my words were good. I was a regular contributor to the most popular social magazine in Boston. I had good hours and decent pay, and most importantly I could do what I loved, which was to make people laugh.
Essentially, I had the perfect life, right? But somewhere along the way, I had become FAT. My entire perception of who I was had been shattered.
