Hello.
You entered my life passive and dormant, making me into the girl that wasn't the stick. The little girl that had some meat on her bones. The girl that was different.
So I lived to be normal. Every breath was another calorie burned and every night was calories being stored. Each day I saw the thin legs, the thigh gaps, the hip bridges, and the ribs I couldn't even starve myself to see.
Out of the few distinct memories I have of being a kid is hunger. You telling me that I was too big for food, that beauty was pain so keep going. That you validated the fact that I would be beautiful if I was thin.
You told me I was too thick, that my boobs were too big, that my ass was too big, and my frame was too wide all together. You told me I was wrong.
Wrong for not losing weight even though I was more active than all of the other girls. Wrong for eating an apple because it had too many calories. Wrong for being happy when I ate.
You wore me out. I had no energy and you still yelled at me. I'm tired, please stop. I'm tired of seeing my body and knowing my work didn't translate into my body and every doctors visit I had the talk.
The talk that scared me more than anything. The one where I would be labeled as obese. Where I wasn't healthy enough and needed an exercise program. Where I was judged before I could sit down and explain.
Then someone looked at me as a person. She said that I should look healthy and my body fat % should be way lower than what it is. That my lab work was perfect and I exercised more than I needed to. For once I was right. But you still screamed.
What about your tummy? Or the fat you can grab on your fingers and face? You're covered in fat. You are fat.
So doctor after doctor couldn't tell me what was wrong and my days were spent crying to try to find myself. Your screams got louder and louder. Until one day someone could give me something. Something to make me normal. To make me beautiful.
I cried until I couldn't cry anymore and you screamed as loud as you could. And I finally listened.
You screamed that I was okay. That I was beautiful the way I was. That I was beautiful and I always will be. That my thick thighs are sexy and there's nothing wrong with a little tummy.
So you kept screaming. Put down those laxatives and put away that knife. Doctor don't phone in that prescription and Momma put down that check book. Take away the tears and replace it with a smile. And be happy that you're different and that you can love your own damn self.
I'm sorry for not listening to you. I'm sorry for neglecting you. Please forgive me.
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