My #MeToo is complicated by how the black community has made me feel about fatness. That because I wasn’t slim and trim I was supposed to take whatever attention I got and run with it because.. who the hell else should want me? As I expressed in my post On Usher, Sex, and the Fake Fat Friendly Black Community, when you’re actually fat, you understand quickly that the Black community is merely tolerant of fatness.
My BLACK, (Nigerian?) doctor forever made me feel othered by my weight. Once, my mom had concerns about my thyroid/neck area. And sis tells her assistant that basically my neck is fat and if I lost 15-20 pounds, it would no longer be a problem. Right in my face, referring to me in the third person like I wasn’t sitting there. And I was grown. I was hurt af because I managed to maintain losing 10 pounds in less than 2 months and I thought that was worth mentioning. I was hittin the gym, lifting, and slimming and sis didn’t even acknowledge that even though it was quite obvious from my weigh in that I was making progress.
I’d like to take this time to sideeye any black doctor who uses BMI for black patients. I’ve been “morbidly obese” since I was 12. Chile please.
College heavily messed with my self-concept. First of all, I gained 20 pounds IMMEDIATELY lol. But besides that, even when I wasn’t “fat” I thought I was despicable because I wasn’t small enough to compete with the other girls. All the fashion shows, the pageants, the everything, was one skinny minnie after another. And clearly, my big ole ghetto booty wasn’t going to take me as far as I thought it could because it was attached to a body that was too big anyway. The dudes I thought could check for me, weren’t. And I heard the conversations people on campus had about “big girls”. I knew the dudes who were smashing said big girls and claimed to adore big booty, but when it was time to have a girlfriend they picked the super slim type. And pressured them to stay that way. Not my business either way, but it sent a clear message to me.
It’s a weird place to be in when you feel you have to appreciate the attention because you don’t know when it’s coming again, but dude is really not what you’re checking for. That said. #MeToo (as posted on Facebook) :
I’ve always felt like I couldn’t even get to the point of saying no. Because I’ve heard too many stories, been told too many times to “be careful”. So when I ended up in situations where I was past the point of being able to be careful, I figured it was my responsibility to see it through to the end. #MeToo
He plotted on me from the first day I set foot on campus. He relentlessly pursued me for two years afterward. I was careful. I avoided situations where he could potentially make a move. Cuz that’s what the “good girls” did. And eventually, I thought he was a “friend” that just didn’t know how to control his urge to have me. #MeToo
There was one night he showed up high and I was too inexperienced and naive to realize that it probably wasn’t a good idea to let him in. He claimed he needed something real quick and would be back on his way to whatever party he was going to. I somehow ended up on his lap. Shirt open. Contents on the inside all spilled out. I had a boyfriend at the time. I don’t even remember if he knew. I actually forgot this happened until I finished writing this status the first time.
Two years later, he shows up drunk and high I was alone. And somehow I had convinced myself that it was my fault for telling him he could “stop by”. After all… he was an alum at this point. He didn’t just make his way to campus for no reason. He had frat bros. SURELY he had somewhere else to be. As soon as I opened the door I knew it was a mistake. But by this time I was tired. I was tired of the ordeal of pushing him off so I convinced myself it wouldn’t be that bad and I could just get it over with… #MeToo
I still spoke to him afterward. I never told him that I felt forced. Cuz what good would that do? I even convinced myself that I could “like” him in his continued interest in me. It wasn’t until homie decided to randomly send me a video of him beating off that I finally
got up the strength to cut him off. Because it FINALLY felt too perverted. He FINALLY felt like a predator. And it only took me about 5 years to really feel this way… #MeToo
I’m using this post to invite you to share your story. Not because you have to. Not because you need to, but because you deserve to release it into the atmosphere if you’ve had to keep it to yourself. I understand the feeling of being voiceless. I understand the power in sharing and NOT sharing. But if you want to share. If you want someone to know of what you’ve had to go through but you don’t want to put a face or name to the story, send it to and I can share your story. Or a tidbit on Twitter. Whatever you’d prefer. You never have to reveal your identity. Not even to me.
You can use the form on the Contact Me page to send a tidbit and you won’t even have to include an email if you do. I want to use my platform as a way to amplify the voices of the inaudible.
Wishing you love and peace,
Patrice, The Boujee Ratchademic