Page 31 of Plus Size Player

You’re promoting an unhealthy lifestyle.

Why do you think it’s okay to be a fat, disgusting pig?

Fat whores shouldn’t be showing so much skin! Cover up you big back bitch!

Lose weight! You’re going to drop dead any minute from a heart attack. Instead of going on dates, you should be going to the gym.

I’m not saying this to be mean, but it’s not healthy to weigh as much as you do. I’m a personal trainer who has helped thousands of people lose weight. I helped them and I can help you. Check your DMs.

When I first started monetizing my accounts on social media, the negative comments got to me. Not because it affected how I felt about myself, but because I thought the brands I wanted to work with wouldn’t want to partner with me if I was receiving so much hate. Also, because I hated to think that women who looked like me would read those comments and internalize them. I wanted to create a safe space.

I soon realized that the harassment I received online didn’t impact my relationships with brands who wanted to work with me because I wasn’t alone. Almost everyone received hate. But because I happened to be a fat, Black woman, the messages tended to be particularly vile. Racist, sexist, fat-shaming attacks about me and my body would weave their way through a sea of positive comments.

I’d been threatened with physical and sexual violence. I’d been called out by name. I’d been ridiculed and mocked. My content featured my style and a story about what I wore, why I chose to wear it, and where I was wearing it to. Most people seemed to like my stories and my style. But there were plenty of no-profile-picture-havingusers who would spew such hatred my way. And my only crime was existing.

It was a hard job to put yourself out there to be scrutinized, disrespected, and judged by faceless strangers on the internet. But I’d been dealing with bullshit like that my entire life. I’d always been pretty. I’d always been chunky. I’d always had haters. And even though I grew up knowing I was a bad bitch, I was still human.

My coping mechanism had always been to do what I love and experience joy. From going to the mall or Magic World as a kid, to finding unique articles of clothing or getting my back blown out as an adult, I coped with the negativity by doing what I loved.

I had thick skin and high self-esteem, so the nonsense people would spew didn’t change how I felt about me. I stood up for myself. I advocated for myself. I loved myself. In turn, I lived my life the way I deserved to, and I dressed the way I wanted to. And I just wanted to be an example to other people, especially women who looked like me, to live happily in their bodies. When I realized how many people didn’t feel confident about themselves because they were fat, I made it my mission to be that representation so they could see it.

And I wasn’t going to let haters stop me.

I was genuinely loved and respected by my friends and family. I was admired by plenty of strangers. I was adored by plenty of men. But my confidence and self-worth came from within. My realness, my authenticity, and my zest for life created a safe space for me. My home was a place of peace—and very few people were allowed in. My dating relationships were a place of peace—and everyone played their individual roles. My work was a place of peace—and those who violated it were blocked.

After deleting some of the bullshit in my comments section, I checked my email.

“Holy shit!” I whispered excitedly before reading it again.

Calling Aaliyah, I let it ring three times before I hung up and immediately called Jazmyn.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey, Jazz, how are you?” I asked.

Jazmyn’s aunt was sick, and things weren’t looking good. What started out as a quick trip home for a weeklong visit turned into a summer-long extended vacation. I hadn’t seen her since the beginning of June, and I wasn’t going to see her again until Aaliyah’s birthday party at the end of the month. With each passing week, her voice and conversation indicated that she was making peace with what was going on.

“I’m okay,” she replied. “How are you?”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah… I’ll tell you more later.”

I curled my feet under me on the couch. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Later,” she reiterated. “What’s going on with you? I know you called for a reason. I can hear it in your voice.” She gasped. “Do you have a date tonight?” She lowered her voice. “Is there a fifth contender?”

“No!” I snickered. “I’ve learned that four is my sweet spot.”

“From the messages in the group text, it sounds like that might be changing.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Fun One getting a lot more playing time than anyone else on the roster.”

“He’s the star player, but it’s a team effort.”

She laughed and the sound truly made my heart swell. Phone conversations had been mostly short and morose all summer. We primarily conversed via text message. I hadn’t been privy to her laughter or her joy on full display for weeks. So to hear her laugh reassured me that she would be okay.

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