I have spent my life trying to make myself smaller. Trying to make myself into something other than my weight.
Throughout high school I had the unfortunate reality of occupying the locker under the school’s resident Mean Girl, which meant I spent much of my recess and lunch time being asked to “move the f*ck out of the way Free Willy.”
That’s right, she likened me to a whale.
Recently I visited an extended family member for the first time in three or four months, and after some polite chit chat he turned to me and said: “So when are you going to lose some weight?”
My heart stopped and I stared at the ground wishing that it would swallow me whole. The humiliation didn’t stop there, he quickly added the follow up questions: “what are you eating that you shouldn’t be” and “are you doing any exercise.” I made some polite excuses and got out of there as fast as humanly possible, barely holding myself together until I got to the car where I burst into a flood of tears.
Unfortunately this is a regular occurrence. Everyone from family and friends to complete strangers offer comments and opinions about my physical appearance. They range from the subtle “I didn’t think you liked wearing sleeveless tops” (which of course is accompanied by a pointed look at my flabby arms) to the blunt “Oh we better not get take away tonight, we need to eat healthy for this one. How about salad?”