Content warning: This article discusses body image in a way that some readers may find distressing.
For me, growing up fat was equivalent to being cursed. I certainly felt that in my late teen years, when I lost a lot of weight and people started treating me differently. The curse isn’t what you’d think it was, though. No, the constant comments about what I’d wear, what I’d eat, how I’d sit, or even that I simply existed weren’t the worst of it. It’s the long-term physical effects on my body that I will have to deal with for the rest of my life, and they’re just as bad as the psychological ones.
I can be self-aware and retrospectively critical of how my sense of worth came with the approval of our patriarchal society that ‘rewards’ women for feeding into the male gaze by starving themselves and stripping off every follicle of body hair. However, I cannot deny that life after being fat for so many years is undoubtedly easier. I don’t get stared at for having a big lunch, I don’t get told off for taking up too much space on public transport, and I don’t get bullied by my classmates and teachers for being the ‘ugly fat girl’ (a label that comes in a two-for-one punch).
It taught me that being skinny equated to being loved, that skinny meant pretty, and pretty was what I had to be if I wanted people to care for me.
It’s freeing to not be told off for simply being alive, but that doesn’t mean my lived experiences as a fat girl don’t haunt me, or that I’m unaware that this is only a ticking time bomb and that once I am old or fat again, I will revert to being deemed worthless.
The impending doom of this inevitable invalidity and loss of worth has seeped deep into me. But I have a secret that could bring my post-fat girl era to a crashing halt sooner than expected — what TikTok calls the “B belly” or The Hourglass Syndrome.
You see, when, from the age of about nine, you start getting told that you need to lose weight, are encouraged to get your first gym membership at 11, and are bullied incessantly for the entirety of your primary school years for being overweight, you begin to learn ways of protecting yourself, even if you don’t realise that’s what you’re doing. This is when I learned to suck in my stomach and keep it like that for as long as I could. One of my earliest memories is having a cousin compliment me on losing weight when, in fact, I had just been pulling in my stomach to create that very illusion. It felt like a cheat code, like I’d discovered a way to make people like me by making them think I was slimmer than I was.
As a child, being praised for something you’ve not fully grasped the concept of creates an avenue to continue seeking compliments and approval. It felt good to be told I was doing something right when I looked like I’d lost weight. It taught me that being skinny equated to being loved, that skinny meant pretty, and pretty was what I had to be if I wanted people to care for me.
I’d fooled everyone around me, giving off an illusion of thinness, but I was left forever cursed by the ways in which I achieved it.
I kept my stomach tense and sucked it in like that for a good 10 years or so. It became my resting state, and I felt good about having found a loophole to being myself — with the minor adjustment of sucking my tummy in public or in situations where I felt I might be criticised. It was the perfect bargain (and definitely felt better than being hated for the fat on my stomach) but I couldn’t have known the repercussions this would have on my body, or the potential risks it would have in later life.
Sucking in my stomach, or what has also been referred to as ‘stomach-gripping’, for so long has left my abdominal region scarred with indents. It’s left behind a firm definition in the upper stomach area, a significantly softer lower ab region, and a slightly upturned belly button with a noticeable horizontal crease above it. From some perspectives, it almost looks like I have abs, and as the term ‘Hourglass Syndrome’ suggests, it gives off the illusion of having the ideal “hourglass body type,” with the only problem being that it’s all an illusion.
I have always been aware of the unusual shape my stomach creates, and although I’ve lost a significant amount of weight, my B belly is now much more prominent. It is almost impossible for me to lose lower stomach fat due to the constant activation of my upper abdominal muscles. This has resulted in me hiding behind baggy shirts and jumpers tied around my waist to conceal that extra, stubborn bit of belly pouch.
We’ve all been collectively shamed into upholding a facade of thinness by cleverly finding ways to clothe ourselves or taking pictures from certain angles that would keep this secret hidden.
For a long time, not having a term attached to this body type felt like an ugly, dark secret I was carrying around. I’d fooled everyone around me, giving off an illusion of thinness, but I was left forever cursed by the ways in which I achieved it. To add insult to injury, because of the way women’s bodies are criticised, I didn’t see any visual representation of stomachs and what they were supposed to look like. We’ve all been collectively shamed into upholding a facade of thinness by cleverly finding ways to clothe ourselves or taking pictures from certain angles that would keep this secret hidden. When being thin is the only option, the means to get there aren’t governed (as we see with the latest Ozempic weight loss trend). You try to get to the end goal in any way possible; it’s an isolating struggle.
With the rise of Tiktok and a slew of creators being more candid with their audience, especially in queer and feminist online spaces, the Hourglass Syndrome has revealed itself to be a shared experience for many women. Through this, I not only realised that what I had experienced was real and valid, but also shed light on how it may have affected other aspects of my daily life.
Sucking in your stomach or stomach gripping can disrupt normal breathing patterns, which can result in soreness and stiffness in the lower back and hips. This can also lead to acid reflux and neck pain. On top of that, habitual stomach tension can contribute to pelvic floor issues, which may develop into leaking bowels, bladders, or even a pelvic organ prolapse and cause painful sex.
Women are shamed for fat on their bodies to a degree that can lead to many of us resorting to physical contortions and the constant activation of abdominal muscles to the point of no return. Doubling down with the shame of discussing fat bodies, women everywhere are resorting to unhealthy ways of appearing smaller that feel rewarding. This is dystopian shows the extent to which women are pushed to fit into a mould. Growing up fat is equivalent to being cursed; not because being fat is bad but because it orchestrates cognitive dissonance, body dysmorphia and isolation.
Even after being made aware of these facts, I find myself gripping my stomach and pulling it in to appear thinner when I’m wearing tight-fitting clothing. I still catch myself sucking in my belly when I feel bloated. However, now that I have a term for it, and now that more research is being conducted on the symptoms of stomach-gripping, and I have access to and am engaging in the growing discourse of the “hourglass syndrome” or “B belly”, I can consciously make the decision to let my stomach go. No amount of pain or permanent body damage is worth having a flat stomach in a tight dress or serving the viewing pleasure of a man. I might catch myself pulling in my stomach here and there, but I won’t be holding my belly — or my thoughts about it — in anymore.
If you are struggling with an eating disorder, please call Beat on 0808 801 0677. Support and information is available 365 days a year.
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