There are ways, o less-than-fat people of the universe, to express your dissatisfaction with your weight. There are good ways and then there are clumsy ways, and then there are ways that seem designed to raise the ire of the more-than-skinny among us.
I was underweight, severely so, for years. This was even after I ditched anorexia. I really and truly could not eat enough to put the weight back on; I felt full far sooner than everyone around me. My body did not permit me to take in enough calories to maintain above ninety pounds. It was upsetting in its way. I was always cold; my blood pressure hovered around 90/50; clothes fit badly, especially bras, but I had enough in the way of breasts that going without wasn’t an option… so I shopped in the kids’ department.
I still had it better than the women around me who were sized out of department stores, and the women who were at the top end of the department store spectrum and finding that clothing had not been cut to flatter their figures one bit. Nobody was shaming me for my effortless maintenance of an anorexic BMI. (Because that’s how the numbers crunched: I was stuck at or below 17.5 that whole time.) Nobody ever discounted my disabilities, to give an example, because I wasn’t fat to boot. Was I sorry I’d seemingly missed the family tendency to curves? Absolutely. Was I sorry I’d missed the baggage that came with it? No, not really.
And when I complained, because I did have legitimate complaints, I kept that in mind. I knew very well that designers had completely failed women whose body types did not mimic a certain desired ideal. These days, ready-to-wear is for a woman with a rack, but not too much rack. It’s for a woman with a behind, but no thighs to support it. It’s for a woman whose feet fall into a certain statistical average; she can shop in children’s if her feet are small or men’s if her feet are big.
I can sympathize with skinny people who seriously can’t put the weight on; it is, admittedly, easier when they know they’re the flip side of the coin, that their larger counterparts have trouble, too. What I cannot stand, and I said this very plainly the other day, is a skinny person who acts superior because she (it’s usually a she) takes care of herself (oh, like the rest of us don’t?) and wonders why not-skinny people get irritated with her. Frankly, the people around her are probably well aware she looks down on anyone who isn’t as stringent as she is. Cue rolling of eyes.
I am not ashamed that I am gaining weight. I haven’t “let myself go”; I’m finally looking after myself. So I’m no longer a size 0? I like it better in medium territory anyhow. After years of complaining that I couldn’t gain the weight, I can! I’m not going to hang my head and mumble about diets if I’m comfortable with my body. (Which for the most part I am; newness is scary to me, but newness passes. This, too, shall pass.) And I’m not going to let self-righteous skinny people shame people who don’t share their priorities. No sympathy here, sorry. Been there, done that, am done with it.
Now, I want you all to indulge in something delicious today. ♥