Growing up in a family that valued traditions, customs, and religious practices, it was difficult for me to understand or explore the meaning of sexuality and its relationship with the self. Even the term ‘sexuality’ did not make sense to me, because no one discussed it or explained that something like it existed or meant anything. And so, sexuality and its relationship with the self have always been confusing for me, and did not feel directly relatable.
I was a big-bodied girl growing up in a small town, where there was a set culture and stereotypes that “fat bodies” are not beautiful and are undesirable. Because of this, I was often teased or made fun of. Not in school, tuition, or college did anyone have even the slightest crush on me, so that I could understand what it felt like to be desired.
Seeing other girls being liked or having multiple people crush on them made me feel invisible and left out. I would compare myself constantly to them and question why I was not desirable. It started feeling like this space of being liked or wanted did not exist for me. Even when I had crushes, I could not say it out loud because of the fear of being judged, rejected, or made fun of because of my body weight. I would imagine people saying things like, “This fat girl has a crush on you,” and turning it into a joke. I also felt that the other person might question why I liked them at all, because we were all growing up with the same mentality that only slim girls are beautiful and capable of desire. There were moments when I came close to saying something, but I never dared to express it. I still remember that in Class 10 when I got to know that someone had a crush on me, I felt happy without even knowing who that person was. I felt visible, like maybe I was desirable and someone could like me. But that feeling did not stay for long. I had shared it casually with someone I trusted, and it somehow reached my parents. Even without knowing anything about the person, I was scolded and beaten for it. After that, the idea of even being liked or liking someone started feeling like something that could get me into trouble, something that had to be hidden.
In college, when someone approached me, I accepted it because I was afraid of being left alone, lonely, and feeling undesirable. In that relationship, something always felt off. It was mostly my effort that kept it going, and their behaviour made me feel anxious, drained, and often weepy. Even when I knew it was not right, I still continued the relationship.
I thought being desired and chosen by someone meant being accepted as I am. Because of that, I ignored whether the relationship itself was right for me. I focused more on not being left out than on how I was actually feeling.
For me, sexuality was never just about attraction. It became about how comfortable I feel in my own body, especially as a big-bodied person, and whether I can share that intimate space with someone. Without liking someone or feeling emotionally connected, I cannot even think about physical intimacy. Moreover, the idea of physical intimacy has always been linked to the “good girl” image I grew up with. Physical intimacy feels like going against the values I was taught, and I fear that if someone finds out that I am in a sexual relationship, they will judge my entire existence. I also carry the fear of being judged for my body – that my partner might lose interest after seeing me closely, or that they are there only for a moment and might leave soon. Because of this, I often overthink and hesitate, and at times even avoid dating altogether.
This feeling of not being seen as desirable or someone worth choosing has been extremely draining and still complicates how I think about relationships and even friendships. It has affected my confidence and my understanding of myself. So my relationship with sexuality and with self continues to feel complicated or unresolved. I am still trying to understand how these two are connected for me, and whether they are actually defining anything for me, or are just theoretical concepts that I am still trying to figure out.
Even today, being single sometimes makes me question myself – whether I should say yes to someone who approaches me, regardless of what I have learnt from my past. It makes me overthink, become overcritical, and at times, the “good girl” guilt still stays with me. I don’t fully know how to resolve this yet.
What I do know is that I have begun to understand that I do not just want to be “chosen”, I want to be chosen right – in a way that aligns with my understanding, my values, and how I want to feel in a relationship.
Cover image by Deon Black on Unsplash
