No one wants to hear a thin person talk about weight.
And I get it.
My fat is someone else's skinny. The size eight I'm trying to shrink out of is the one you're dying to fit into.
We swallow the fat jokes with mild indigestion, whether it's Billy Crystal mocking Jonah Hill during the Oscars opening or the "polite" fashion commentary from self-proclaimed gurus like Kelly Osborne and her pearlish pink hair who say things like "It makes her look slender!" or "She picked the right dress for her size."
But we seem to ignore the impact of the flip side: The criticism of too-thin celebs, who look better when they "would just eat a sandwich already."
And we volley the weight talk back and forth like a tennis ball, not fully understanding the damage we're doing because when we talk about weight as a descriptor for anyone, it becomes part of her identity. Not her brains, personality, or her athleticism. Not all the more important aspects of a person that should be emphasized, fostered, and cultivated.
It's how many pounds she's put on or lost or somehow moved from her ass to her boobs.
And women become objects.
It's also how they find value in themselves.
It makes perfect sense. If everyone is always talking about weight and women of a specific size are the only role models, being rewarded on TV! the movies! and dolls! then it has to be important.
Welcome to a real life Goldilocks and the 3 Bears. She's too thin! She's too fat! She's just right!
Except one person's "just right" shouldn't be the "just right" for everyone else.
I spent most of my childhood through my teen years being the too-thin girl whose mother never fed her. I was the "string bean" or whatever other stupid things you can think of calling a tall super skinny ballet dancer until she stops dancing 6 hours a day, finally hits puberty, and gains 15 pounds because she's still eating like she's burning 5000 calories a day.
I didn't know who I was, other than the girl who used to be skinny.
That damn word became so ingrained in my existence that I did unhealthy things to get there.
It wasn't until I had Margot that I turned to healthy means to lose weight, but that doesn't mean I don't think about what I eat or how much exercise I have or have not done every single day.
I still feel the best about myself, the most confident, the prettiest, the sexiest, when I am very thin.
I blame the men I've encountered in my life. And myself.
Just recently I finally got rid of two pairs of jeans that I know I will never wear again. Partly because having a fourth kid permanently changed my body, but also becuase I know that I just won't be able to work that hard to be that small.
That was a big step.
The last time I went shopping for clothes I grabbed the 10s instad of the 8s and if they were too big, I didn't get excited.
I just asked the salesperson for a smaller size.
I think about all the time and energy in my life that I have wasted and the only saving grace is that I am determined to make a difference for my own children. I know I won't be able to shield them from the firing squads. Or from the images that will inevitably surround them.
But I can be the voice of reason. And better, the example of reason.
I need to show them that I value more than my appearance. And just as importantly, I value more than the appearance of others. No matter what size they are.
It's not fat talk that's just off limits. It's all weight talk.
{Editor's note: I'd be remiss not to thank Laurie White for engaging in this conversation with me. She's a good one.}
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