I remember being deathly afraid of people calling me fat throughout my childhood, teen years, and into my early twenties.
Comparing my smaller, past selves to my current, I can look back and notice that when each photo was taken, I was repulsed by my appearance at that time in my life. Now, I look back at each stage of my fatness as I’m currently 40 pounds lighter than my (recent) heaviest weight, and I see most variations of my former self as “not fat at all.”
It’s interesting how we view ourselves differently either with age and/or more experience.
I remember how painful it was for someone to say even the slightest remark about my body just 7 years ago.
Heck, positive comments felt like they wanted something from me—I’d think they were just trying to get laid (which might be true) or kiss my ass for some reason, and I wouldn’t believe them.
I joked to a friend not long ago that I have reverse body dysmorphia—a mental health condition where a person spends a lot of time worrying about flaws in their appearance.1 Even with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome,2 I don’t feel fat. And when I’m not plopped in front of a mirror or see myself in a photograph, I don’t consider myself to be fat.
And when I do catch my reflection, it’s like, who the fuck is that??
It’s sort of like an identity blindness.
My friend said she felt the same way about her own body (although she’s tall and thin—to me, at least).
When others who weigh less than me complain about their weight, I can’t understand what they mean. But, I’m built big, and built to be big. Yet, just because I can carry it well or without issue (yet), doesn’t mean others have the same experience with weight.
Under no circumstances whatsoever would I have been able to let it roll off my back if someone pointed out my heft in my younger years, though. It would crush me—stop me in my tracks. Crumple my soul.
I see myself differently now: I’m a survivor. The weight I carry is the reason I’m alive. The weight my mom carried gave her three extra years of life after an inoperable lung cancer diagnosis, beating a term of “6 months to live”.
I’ve always had a different viewpoint about fatness, whether I allowed myself to accept it or not.
However, when I recall the “before times” when doctors would tell me I needed to lose weight, I’m transported back to less mentally stable years, and I’d feel it all over again as if I were experiencing the shame, deep sadness, and pain for the first time.
If it wasn’t true, it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Plain and simple.
I argue that it wouldn’t hurt at all if it wasn’t true.
I’d laugh at how ridiculous the negative comment made the other person seem, if I were thin. But, body dysmorphia is real, and even thin people feel like and think they’re fat.
Maybe it’s all a state of mind. And that’s what makes it hurt—the truth we convince ourselves of, maybe not just blatant facts.
“You get a lot of packages!” the concierge said. “That’s nice, huh?”
I locked up.
It was easier when our building had the previous package delivery service. It delivered everything directly to our front doors. I never had to face the people carting all my shit to my doorstep. But apparently the service lost numerous tenant packages, so our building dropped them and switched to the service they had before the switch—Luxer.
Now, we as tenants retrieve our “normal-sized” packages from QR code-opened lockers in the mail area. And there's a secondary, locked room down the locked hallway behind the concierge desk for over-sized or “overflow” packages.
We have to ask either the concierge or the on-site Luxer representative to retrieve those for us. Meaning, there’s no more (internal) denial that I buy a lot of crap—the people I face every day know it now, too.
After about a month of hauling several packages home numerous times per week, I finally got a cart for the massive, now once-weekly job instead of multiple times per week.3
One day, I asked the Luxer rep for our packages from the overflow room. He dramatically filled his lungs with air, his eyebrows reached for his hairline, and he pursed his lips before getting up to retrieve them.
I felt myself fluster. He handed me the bushel of packages without expression.
As I plopped them in my cart before heading to the lockers to grab the rest of the packages, another tenant walked up and asked for his package. The Luxer rep grinned, said he’d check with pep, and returned with a beaming smile and a single, medium-sized package in hand.
My heart pounded.
(The rep) is judging me for how many packages I get—how many packages he has to handle, probably multiple times, just from me….
That’s when the concierge said, “You get a lot of packages! That’s nice, huh?”
My shame grew. He thinks we’re rich or something. “Well, five people," I quickly said. Then added, "Oh, and I don’t go to the store except for, like, prescriptions. I end up buying things we don’t need when I go into stores.”
The Luxer rep tittered as he logged things into his computer, and I felt my heart rate quicken and my jaw clench.
I felt so insecure. All I wanted to do was keep explaining myself, but there really was nothing more to say unless I wanted to reload his judgment gun with more ammunition.
The other shame-factor is that I’m a big woman. I’m sure most people associate fatness with laziness, and clearly I’m too lazy to go to the store. *Rolls eyes*
“That’s really smart!” the concierge generously chimed. I wonder if he saw how deflated I might’ve looked, and tried to cheer me up. He added, “Seriously, any time I go into a store, I walk out with stuff I didn’t need. And sometimes not even with the thing I went in for!” He laughed and I perked up.
“Exactly! I don’t know what it is, but I only go to online shops when I actually need something. I go to the search bar, search it, add to cart, and that’s it. I feel like when I go into a store, I get distracted by all the aisles of stuff. And overwhelmed. I just can’t handle stores for some reason.”
(I know why, but I don’t actually tell every single person I’m Autistic—despite what this platform looks like.)
The concierge said, “Yes! I actually never thought about that. That’s probably why we buy extra stuff and leave without the thing we needed, huh?”
“Yep!” We both laughed.
(Mike, the concierge, is so sweet.)
But the thing is, I do buy too much crap. I’m impulsive, I poorly prioritize and improperly estimate when I’ll run out of a product. I keep “backups” of products and supplements I deem important in my closet and in a little floor cabinet because I’m terrified of the internal blowback (a long-lasting meltdown or shutdown) experienced after running out of the things I need.
Having backups of regularly used things that I can’t pick-up at a local store same-day is really a form of self-care and preparation. But, the bank account, plus the added cost of the space needed to store those items makes justifying the self-care act feel like a stretch in some cases.
Heck, even prescriptions give me severe anxiety.
My new prescriber isn’t as liberal as my previous one was. I expressed my anxiety to my previous prescriber about running out of medications, and the added stress of potentially having to plead with the pharmacist to expedite my order when they’re always behind. She then prescribed a double-round of medication so I’d always have a fallback. (I’m so sad she retired.)
With new prescriptions, I order them and wait at least two weeks before starting it so I have a two-week cushion of meds in case I forget to order them on time.
Anxiety sandwiched with ADHD and poor self-control lend themselves to my hoarding (depending on who you ask—our home looks neat and tidy, but the closests and drawers are a whole different beast) and buying problem.
And having that pointed out to me by people outside of Brian (and even by Brian…) crushes me.
Because it’s true.
At least I outgrew the fear of what people will say or think about my body. And, at my second heaviest, that’s not because people wore me down. It’s because I stopped giving a fuck what people think about it—even ignorant doctors (although that hasn’t been a problem in Seattle, thankfully).
I learned that my body was a symptom that was overlooked, and that nearly cost me my life back in Florida. But, I argue that most large bodies aren’t people trying to be fat—there’s a reason, whether it’s psychological, genetic, a physical or socioeconomic reason, or any other of the over 100 factors as to why someone is "overweight"45 or more. Learning the misconceptions of and reasons for fatness6 solidified my self-acceptance too. (Aubrey Gordon wrote a fantastic book on this: “You Just Need to Lose Weight” and 19 Other Myths About Fat People.*)
The other part of the self-acceptance and comfort in my own skin was acknowledging that I’m sick, and I may never be able to be in a different body than I’m in.
So, if I can’t love myself at every shape and size, I’d never truly love myself. And, I’d have a pretty shitty life.
The only next step was acceptance.
I’m still learning to accept myself as I am. Not just my body, but all of me.
I acknowledge my impulsivity and poor self-control, and now work to function with them instead of letting them take over. And to love myself, even with anxiety, insecurity, and fear.
But, I also don’t want to be broke or to financially hurt my family, so I fully utilize Amazon's Subscribe & Save, and that of other companies or products better purchased from the source.
Now, I do once-weekly bulk package deliveries instead of checking out a cart of things immediately (unless it's an immediate need that can’t be picked up locally same-day).
So, if I think, “I want to try a new product for Rosacea,” for example, I’ll search for Subscribe & Save-friendly brands using the Filter menu option on Amazon. Then, I’ll add the product to the next shipment instead of just ordering it willy-nilly.
This way, I practice self-control by scheduling items to arrive close to when they’ll be needed instead of hoarding (as much).
Anxiety is eased by knowing the item will be here in two or four weeks, when it’s actually needed. And it helps curb impulsivity by adding whatever I think I need, whenever I think I need it to Subscribe & Save. Then, I scheduled a recurring, every-Tuesday task in my digital calendar to review my back-up items before the Subscribe & Save order locks. That gives me time to review everything, digitally move items around, cancel items we really didn’t need (or I’ve found a better or less pricey alternatives to), and so on.
And, since organizing is so enjoyable to me, I still get to organize my to-be-delivered products, but online instead of having to deal with a toppling mountain of crap in my closet.
Win-win.
It’s all a state of mind. And that’s what makes it hurt—the truth we convince ourselves of, maybe not just blatant facts.
There won’t be a fix for everything, I’m sure.
Some words and actions from others will probably always sting. But the acknowledgement of something’s truth, alone, relinquishes some of its power.
(That, and practicing gratitude helps, too. But that’s a topic for another day.)
Thanks for reading.
My best,
Sara
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Body dysmorphic disorder: Symptoms and causes, Mayo Clinic
Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, May Clinic
I use Amazon Subscribe & Save where I can. And, as I recently went through it, we (I) have well over 100 items scheduled anywhere from once a month to once every six months. It feels excessive, but it's all our household; body, hair, and skincare needs; supplements; and more for five people. But most of it is for me—I won’t lie.
Toxic Diet Culture with Dr. Joshua Wolrich, iWeigh podcast with Jameela Jamil, Earwolf