Why yes, I ‘DID’ need you to tell me I was fat!

One, more again or my life as a body.

Seriously, why do people think it’s their duty, nee right to announce to someone that they are getting fat? Would one go up to a drunk and say, “Hey Jackie…You’re not holding your liquor as well?” For what ever reason, people think attacking someone who carries a little more to love is OK.

In the past when people have made remarks about my weight my M.O. was to show them by punishing myself with self depricating remarks, apologizing and promising to make amends for the way I look through the power of yogurt and carrot sticks and feeling gulity for being so out of control.

Screw that! I am so sick of the guilt, so sick of feeling like I should apologize and so sick of feeling like I have done something wrong because I like to eat (a lot).

But my thought process may be changing after a few events in which I was the star.

First while doing storytime I was so winded after the opening stretches that I broke out into a sweat. Seriously. I had a light sheen of perspiration on me and a parent asked if she could get me something to drink.

Next, I literally busted out of a pair of pants I was wearing. Remember that Subway commercial with the diving board breaking and the lady’s pants button popping off? I was that lady as I played a lively round of closet lotto in an attempt to get ready for work.

Third, someone asked me when I was due. Then looked skeptically at me when I said no baby was forth coming. Granted, the person who asked was a kid and we all know kids have no tact but damn!

And lastly because a few ‘helpful’ folks have taken to pointing out to me that I have gotten fat, thick, chunky, chubby, fill in your own thing. I guess this lot thought that I couldn’t see my reflection in the mirror, feel the pinch of my waist band, or any other cue that would alert me to the fact that I have gained weight.

Despite trying to grin and bear it, it hurts and I hate the way I feel. Truthfully I know that I have to love myself as I am before any changes can be made but also equally true…I hate the way I look and feel. I hate the way my body looks. I hate that I am out of breath when I walk the stairs or carry stuff from my car to the job. I hate that I roll out of bed with a grunt, that when I go upstairs groan, that my body hurts and that I just feel sluggish all of the time. I hate that I don’t want to ‘be alone’ and that it’s almost summer and I have considered wearing long sleeve shirts and skirts along with a sweater for the entire summer.

I hate that I am letting this get me down. The Bee asked if we could do some things together and I almost told her ‘no’ because it would require me to be outside.

I hate that people think it’s fair game to comment. Words do hurt.

I hate that I am writing this post and that even after I hit send I am going to think about this for the rest of the day and mentally and emotionally abuse myself until I shame myself into not eating.

Gah!

I think I am going to stop now, grab The Bee from school and we are going to go shoe shopping. Then spend some time NOT thinking about this. I’m taking the day off from guilt and in the words of Tyra Banks, anybody who DOES NOT like it can kiss my fat ass!

Providing chapstick,
-r.