Reflections on Growing Up Fat and Chinese-American
Photo of Amy Rios-Richardson pictured at a campsite with a tent in the background and holding three smiley face balloons.
by Amy Rios-Richardson
Content warning: IWL mentioned, fat-shaming, food restriction mention
In Chinese culture, women are supposed to be small. Not just in stature, but in how we exist in the world. There is this old school idea that Chinese girls should be quiet, small, slender, take up as little space as possible. There is no being loud, there is no taking up space, there is absolutely no being fat. Well. I’m fat. And I always have been. I grew up culturally Chinese American. My mom and her family immigrated from China and Taiwan. My dad was Mexican. I grew up with my mom and her side of the family. I grew up around slender and athletic girls and women. I was neither of those things. Some of my earliest memories of fat shaming and weight stigma come from ones I loved the most.
One of my uncles played a “game” where every family party, he would pick up my cousin and me, and compare our weights. I was always heavier, of course, but it was a joke to him. The cousins would gather around and holler in laughter as he made exaggerated (or maybe not so exaggerated?) faces at how hard it was to lift me up. Then one day, when I was around 10 or 12, he declared he couldn’t pick me up anymore. I was too heavy for him. I was humiliated. I wished so hard that I could look like my cousin, with her narrow shoulders and long, skinny legs.
Meals with my grandparents were always confusing. On the one hand, they’d tell me to eat less rice and carbs, and comment on my weight and appearance. On the other hand, they’d always tell me to “eat up” in Mandarin. Culturally, if your elders offer you more food, you’re supposed to take it. It was a lose-lose situation for me. I wished I could disappear at meal times, slip away in the background where nobody could say anything about my body, or what I was putting in it.
One of my aunts used to work in the factory for a big clothing label, and she’d often bring home bags of clothes for my cousins to try on. One day, my aunt brought over a bag of clothes for me, saying her daughter had grown out of them, so maybe I could wear them, since I was younger than her. Well. None of the clothes fit me, and I had to stand there silently while my aunt and my mom commented on my size. I held back tears until after my aunt left. The clothes stayed in my bathroom, on the floor, taunting me next to the scale.
One of my most haunting memories was an interaction with my mom and stepdad. I was getting close to getting my driver’s license, and I was obsessed with Mini Coopers at the time. You know, those small, boxy little sports cars from Europe? Well, my parents came into my room one day, unprompted, and told me they wanted to buy me a car. I was so surprised and excited. They took me to a dealer with Mini Coopers and I got in one and imagined how awesome I’d be driving around town in a slick Mini. And then once they got my hopes up and got me properly stoked for possibly getting a car, they dropped a bomb on me. “We want to buy you a car, but first, you need to lose 50 pounds.” I was shocked. And devastated. See, I was about 16 then, and my mom and I had tried all kinds of diets; Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, and even a personal trainer. But my size never changed. I was just me. It was then that I realized how badly my parents wanted me to not be fat. They were willing to throw thousands of dollars into a brand new car as a bribe, so I would shrink my body by 50 pounds. I tried so hard to stop eating, to exercise more, to take up less room. But nothing worked. And I never got that car.
These memories have stuck with me throughout the years. My family has always made it clear to me that the body I exist in has been unacceptable, has been bad, has been wrong. It took me a long time to shake off their words, their feelings, their reactions to me. I had to dig deep to discover my own self-worth and self-love.
I’ve had to accept that I’m not your stereotypical meek, model minority Asian American. I’m fat. I’m loud. I take up space. I am unapologetic about my voice and my place in the world. It took me a long time to get to this place, but I am so thankful. I’m thankful to the fat community for existing boldly so I could know where to look for guidance and acceptance. I am imperfect at loving my body, I’ll admit. There are some days I wish it looked different. But I know that’s all part of the journey, and it’s perfectly normal. Nowadays, I know that peoples’ reaction to my size and my body are just a reflection of their own thoughts, fears, feelings, etc., and have much less to do with me, than with them. I feel a sense of peace now with my body that I never felt growing up, and I embrace that peace.
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