I’m trying to fight the fat anxiety that overcomes me at Christmas.

There was a point in my childhood where I would have been more excited, so excited that I memorably bounced up and down on a sofa… and broke the sofa. This was followed by a stern telling off before I desperately became worried on this Christmas eve, aged 6 years old, that I was too fat. Why else would the sofa have broken? Shortly after finding myself under heavy worry about my body, one afternoon I sat on the back seat of a taxi staring down at my little legs in stripy leggings, wondering why my thighs squished out wider when i sat down. I didn’t like them.


screenshot-www.facebook.com 2014-12-22 20-54-53

squishy thighs.


As my teenage years began, my nanny would always tell me that I didn’t need second helpings at the Christmas dinner table because I had put on weight. The horror that a 13 year old girl might get bigger each year. Hot tears would burn the back of my eyes, glazing with a pained fake smile before running up the stairs to listen to some Linkin Park on my iPod.


Though my pubescent years, she would remark at the weight I had gained every Christmas, disapproving at my growing proportions. Fearful maybe, of my impending womanhood and the awkward, unmentionable worries of having a young teenage girl in the family. My growing bust and widening hips were unsavoury in a family environment, so much so that short skirts or low spaghetti strapped tops from Tammy Girl, I had innocently bought with monies earned from my weekend job at the barber shop, would immediately go missing the moment I placed them into the wash basket, never to be seen again. (I see what you were doing there Mom.)


Unimpressed face.

Unimpressed face.

Boys on the other hand simply cannot be encouraged to eat enough. My little brother, was always “a growing boy”. Feed him up, give the boy some more, he is growing! To be “a growing girl” was looked upon uncomfortably at the best of times. I wonder if any other women out there had the same experience “growing” up. On the occasions in my teenage years where I looked longer-limbed, these were received with so many delightful compliments, you would think I had got an outstanding school report, but no, I was just “lovely and slim”.


And today the battle drags on.


I have never been overweight, I am wearing size 10 jeans while writing this on my laptop right now. But every year in December, even today, I say “I’m going to lose a stone” or “I’m going to be a size 6″ or some other fantastical goal that seeks to kill the anxiety eating away at me all the time, that I am fat. It’s the very same feeling I felt aged 6. Now, my comic book figure is comprised most noticeably by 30FF breasts and curvy hips, providing me with a source of anxiety that I will always look fat and awkwardly sexual to a disapproving room full of people, who like my nan, would breathe easier if I was a bit less shapely.


The sensible region of my brain, the one that forces me to cook and tells me I am silly for feeling horrid, is shut down in December. Sensible officially goes on strike, so I am gearing up for the onslaught of roast potatoes and chocolates, desperately pining for the new year, where I don’t have to be offered another Quality Street. The sniffles and viruses have rendered my inner gym bunny immobile this month, paired with madness at work – silly season as they call it. Before I know it, a fire of histamine that erupts under my skin every time I recall that mince pie I ate at my desk. It literally brings me out in a rash. (Those who know, will understand what I mean by that). The fact of the matter is how all of this has made me very happy, elated even when I am slim, and beside myself when the lower part of my tummy pokes out, announcing to the world that I have not gone to the gym in December and keep eating mince pies.


So one day, I hope to overcome the carbicide-fuelled emotional ramblings about how Christmas makes me feel disgusting and fat and sad.

Here’s to becoming happier in my skin and failing that, a size 6 by January 31st.



4 thoughts on “I’m trying to fight the fat anxiety that overcomes me at Christmas.

  1. Agatha

    When I was reading your post, I thought it could well have been written by myself! I struggled with similar problems… My mother and grandmother always used to tell me that ‘I have put on weight’. Their comments literally used to spoil every Christmas and moreover I have a very low self-esteem and negative body image as result of this.. My mother couldn’t accept that I was growing up and used to make mean comments about my breasts such as ‘why your breasts have to be that big’ ‘i would never wanted big breasts like yours’ etc…. But is it a girl’s fault that her body develops?! Of course not… Now when I’m older I understand that, but when I was a teenager all I wanted is to have a different body type. Similarly to you I was never overweight, and right now I wear size 6/8 and my bra size is 30F but I still struggle with negative thoughts on my body 🙁 I hope that next year (With help of my trainer at the gym) I can become more confident about my body and look better, and moreover be happy in my skin. I wish you good luck with becoming a 6 next year! And good luck with surviving Christmas!

    1. emmastevie Post author

      Hi Agata!

      Thanks so much for the lovely comment! It means so much to have such an engaging response.

      Don’t be too hard on yourself! It’s very easy to feel uncomfortable with big boobs and curves, in a world that overly sexualises women’s bodies. If it wasn’t accepted that we are viewed as sexual forms, then why else would such strict rules be enforced by parents, in offices, at school etc about how we dress and what we cannot display. Very disturbing when I look back on my teenhood and realise how much worry and uneasiness is caused by breasts.

      I hope you feel better and comfortable in your own skin. It is something I try to work on every day!

      Lots if love,

      Emma x

  2. cheryl

    Hi Emma, I came across your blog because Matt had shared your fastest post on his fb page. I have also seen you in Matt’s videos. I had to leave a comment as it broke my heart reading your story about your weight insecurities, I have an eight year old daughter and I am worried she will face similar feelings as she grows up, which I certainly did myself did. I went through puberty at a very young age, I hated my body and ended up developing an eating disorder and refused to eat very much at all from the age of 12, I was taken to my go who just told me to eat more. I was never stick thin, the smallest I’ve been was a size 10. Now, in my mind thirties, I’m a size 14 in topshop, I don’t like it and would much rather be smaller but I do not want to try and diet or lose weight as this will most definitely impact on my daughter. She is also not stick thin, and neither would I want her to be. But someone, somewhere has told her she is “fat” as she’s been asking me repeatedly if I think she has a fat tummy. This destroys me and I constantly tell her she is beautiful, as she most certainly is. YOU are also beautiful, not only on the outside (and you bear a striking resemblance to Liv Tyler) but also (going by the posts on your blog) on the inside. If you were a size 6 you’d still be beautiful but there would less of you, and having less of something so lovely in the world is not necessarily a good thing. But, of course, it is entirely your choice about what weight you would like to be, however, I think (and I’m sure I’m not alone in this) you are just perfect the way you are.

    Happy New year when it arrives! X

  3. emmastevie Post author

    Thank you Kayleigh!

    I love receiving comments and your reply was lovely.

    Keep checking back, I will be posting loads next week! xxx


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