This weekend I was reminded how playful teasing stays with people long after they are children. A friend in her early 40s divulged that she suffered an eating disorder in her 20s. She told of how so-called good-natured ribbing from her family bubbled gently under the surface for years, until a serious of life changing events manifested those feelings and thoughts into an eating disorder.
She said she thought an eating disorder was something that only happened to teenagers, and she felt ashamed for that. The truth is, the things we are told as children, often by our families who should be the safe place we turn to for unconditional love and support despite what we do and how we look, stay with us well into adulthood.
There aren't many things I am afraid to say or discussions I'm afraid to have, but there is a word I try to avoid. I don't know what to do with it, how to navigate it. I suppose I'm afraid of it, I guess that makes me part of the problem. So, I choose to avoid it altogether. It's fat. It's crazy but I'm more afraid to say fat in front of my daughter than f***. The ramifications of f*** I know how to deal with.
I am no expert in fat phobia, I suppose I'm a product of diet culture, I've heard whispers about the reclamation of the power of the word fat and I love Los Angeles although fat is only allowed to exist in certain suburbs, but since my daughter was born, that word has passed my lips only a handful of times, mostly when referencing a cut of meat and never about anyone else, and more surprisingly, myself.
