I was born round and without a waist. I practically came out of the womb wearing a shapeless shirt with a loud print over leggings, donning bold earrings to draw the eyes upward. I had good teeth, a nice face, and a big happy Midwestern head full of dreams. I was a joy bomb who lived to make people laugh. I was heavier than everyone around me.

I prefer to say I “held gravity” because it sounds like a superpower. In some ways it was. I realized early on that because I was big, I was no threat whatsoever to my female friends when it came to boys. They would always trust me more than their normal-weight pals, and I would become their beloved confidante. I loved being mama to the pack, the wise comfort, le grande teat.

As I grew older and fatter, people began to point out my physical potential.

I could sense that my fat was looked down upon, that I was different. But instead of being wounded, I would spin it. “I like being different! Being a potential love interest sounds like a royal pain in the ass!” I brought the support and the slumber parties and the laughs. I was the one to help you pick out your tiny prom dress or write you a poem when you had a bad breakup or hold your purse full of gum while you were being a cheerleader. I had so many tender souls relying on me. I got the better deal because my life had meaning.

As I grew older and fatter, people began to point out my physical potential. “What a shame that you can’t capitalize on your pretty face!” My family loved me completely, but to many others it seemed to be frustrating that I had a head that was killing it, yet the rest (fat) was a wash. That’s why plus-size clothing sections used to be (and still are in some cases) next to the mowers in Lawn and Garden. Many of the clothes were designed like grill covers. Just tether in a couple spots and let the rest billow. Great hair. Nice makeup. Good teeth. Look at the top part, blur the rest. It’s not good, and it makes us sad.

By the end of high school I figured out why I didn’t mind being left out of the romance club with boys. I was hopelessly in love with my best girlfriend with whom I was inseparable. I was no longer excluded from love and sex and having a person. I just couldn’t tell anyone because it was a girl. I remained an “other.”