The fat shaming, body shaming, food policing continues...

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writegirl

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**Caution, long AF post ahead**

I know most of us have dealt with fat shaming, body shaming and/or food policing at some point or another in our pre-op lives. Although I am only just 4 months post-op, I had hoped that after going through the six month pre-op diet, having body-altering surgery, and losing 71+lbs, that the fat/body shaming and food policing I've endured from my own mother would have stopped, or at least lost its demeaning edge. I think this will be a forever issue, no matter how much weight I lose. My mom is one of those naturally thin women who was beautiful in her youth and who has grown old gracefully. In fact, she's even thinner now than when she was younger.

Imagine her disappointment at having three daughters who all developed weight problems, two of whom sought WLS surgeries to "fix" their obese bodies. I wasn't always fat, but my mother has always made me feel fat. My first recollection of her telling me "suck in you stomach" is from when I was 6 or 7 years old. I was a rail thin and wiry kid. I remember that one day, I was with my mom at this town-run recreational facility called Brookwood Hall. She was signing me and my brother up for summer camp. While we were walking the hallway to the sign-up table, we passed by several rooms where girls were taking ballet classes. I watched them as my mom signed us up for camp. Their bodies were beautiful, lithe, capable--they were leaping and two of them were in toe shoes in front of a mirror, pressing up to their tippy toes. I didn't know that was referred to as pointe, but I knew I wanted to do that.

When my mom was finished she came over and I told her, I want to take dance lessons. She smiled and wagged her skinny finger at me, "You have to be thin to be a ballerina, besides I signed you up for guitar lessons."

I hated the guitar lessons. I'm not even sure how long I took them, but each time we arrived for lessons, we had to walk down the hallway where the dance lessons were happening. I would always peek in the doorways. My mother would always coax me along, "You're going to be late for guitar." Guitar lessons consisted of me alone in a room with this man who made me feel self-conscious, with two guitars between us. I was just a kid, but I remember I didn't like him. Everything about the guitar in my hands felt foreign and cumbersome. Even the shoulder strap was too big for me. I never "got" guitar. My hands were small. I also never got dance lessons. I wasn't thin enough for dance lessons.

As a teenager, I thought I was fat. I must be fat, I thought because my brother is allowed to call me "fat ass" and my mother doesn't intervene. She laughs. Sometimes she tells me I should stop eating. I develop bulimia as a way to cope with not being thin enough. I was 5'3 and weighed 105 lbs. By the time I got to high school, my saving grace was that it was the 80's and fashion made it easy for me to hide my body--the body I thought was fat--the body my mother always confirmed was fat. My weight hovered between 102-108 lbs. The idea of getting to 110 lbs gave me fits of anxiety. I did tons of cardio and I took to waking up in the middle of the night to exercise. Roller skating was "in" back then, so I spent every weekend at the rink, speeding around in circles, dancing with my friends, pretending I was an adult. I got into horseback riding. Horses were a godsend because their bodies were big enough to conceal my weight. English style lessons made me giddy. I loved all of it--the caps, the fancy riding crops, the skinny saddles, the braided manes on the horses, and the straight proud way riders seated their steeds. I didn't love the riding britches, at least on me. When I tried on britches and jackets at a local tack shop, my mom mentioned that I'd "really have to suck in" while wearing them. I stopped taking lessons soon afterward, but remained active in horses, even getting one of my own that became my best friend. I switched to western style riding. No britches were necessary.

Throughout high school, I wore a long black very fashionable half-cape with fitted emo-sleeve arms and enough material that it hung well past my "fat ass." When the weather got too warm for the cape, I would switch to billowing shirts. I never wanted anyone to see my butt. It was offensively fat. I overheard two of the boys in class "rating" the girls. One, talking about me, said "I bet she has a nice butt, but I've never seen it." That was the first time in my life I had ever heard anyone make any kind of statement indicating that my body might not be totally offensively huge.

My oldest sister kept getting heavier. She had a son, and gained tons of weight during her pregnancy. She never lost the baby weight. One afternoon, she was standing in the backyard talking with one of her friends. Their kids were having a play date. They walked over to pet my horse. He came over and let everyone fuss over him, then he returned to his pile of hay in the middle of his paddock. It was a lazy summer afternoon. My sister was wearing a sundress. She and her friend rested their arms against the paddock fencing, watching the horse as they talked. My mom, my brother, and I were across the yard. My brother whispered about my sister, "Her ass is as big as the horse's!" and my mom laughed. It didn't matter that it was true, I didn't find it funny. I was repulsed. I said, "But her dress looks pretty" and my mom said, "It looks like a moo-moo. Like curtains." And, my brother started making low mooooo moooo sounds, mimicking a cow. They both cracked up.

As an adult, my mother would comment on my body at every opportunity. Before a family party, I asked her if I looked okay. I bought a new dress. It took me hours to find the right one that would balance out my fat bottom with the rest of me. She said "You look assy." I didn't eat a thing that night. I weighed 106 lbs.

When I did start getting earnestly fat, my mother's body shaming evolved into full-on fat shaming and food policing. During the past few years, I have dreaded every visit to my parents' house. There is a reason I live two states away. They would survey every morsel I put into my mouth. They would always have a comment about my body, always offer a new fad diet they'd hear about. Always.

So, last night, talking with my mom on the phone I figured that, now, it would be safe to discuss my progress with her after everything I have gone through--the six month medically supervised diet, the pre-op 800 calorie diet that I stuck to like glue, the surgery to reroute my intestines, reduce the size of my stomach, and give me severe lifelong malabsorption, and the recovery during which, I've dropped over 55 lbs (in four months). I am 71+lbs lighter than my starting weight, so when she asked how it's going, "it" always refers to my weight loss, I decided to tell her that I am down six pants sizes, I've lost 71 lbs, I feel great, my surgeon's office is satisfied with my progress, etc. She countered with "What size are you now?"

I don't know why I did it, because I stopped talking to my parents about my weight loss after my dad took to beginning every conversation with "How much did you lose now?" I've been telling him that I don't weigh myself, that I wait for my doctor's office to weigh me. But, I broke and told my mother my pants size and told her that sometimes that size is still not quite right. Sometimes, the cut means it won't work on my hips because my weight is mostly in my backside, hips, and upper thighs. She then said to me, "You know you're never going to lose your hips and ass. That's just your shape. Big." She then continued, "You're a thick girl." I then changed the subject to talk about my daughter and I visiting during Thanksgiving weekend and she interjected, "Am I going to have to buy special food now?" I explained that, no, they always have plenty of meat in the house and that she always makes a meat for dinner, so as long as I have that, I have all I need. I did tell her that I need to snack on protein foods throughout the day "I eat all the time now," I said. "You always did eat all the time," she laughed, "that's why you got the way you did."

It doesn't even matter that what she said is categorically untrue. I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I would sometimes grab an afternoon snack if I had a long day. At their house, I would eat that snack because they don't eat dinner until 8:30-9:00 at night and I am used to dinner around 6 PM.

But, none of that matters. I will always be fat in her eyes. I will always have a body that is unacceptable to my mother. It doesn't matter that I've combated severe dyslexia and dysgraphia to succeed in school even thought I was told by an advisor that I would never get through college. It doesn't matter that I accelerated my studies, finishing 4 years of university in 2.5 years, and graduated summa cum laude. It doesn't matter that I then went on to earn a Master's degree and then a Doctorate. I will never be good enough because my body will never be acceptable. I will always be the thick girl. I will always be fat in my mother's eyes and she will always police my food.

And I no longer give a fuck.
 
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It still amazes me, even as a senior adult, just how parents and other people in our lives can be so emotionally abusive and we tolerate it.

Next time you talk to your mother, and she asks about your weight, just respond with "I am sorry but that subject is no longer one I plan on talking about with you. And if you keep asking, I will hang up".
 
**Caution, long AF post ahead**

I know most of us have dealt with fat shaming, body shaming and/or food policing at some point or another in our pre-op lives. Although I am only just 4 months post-op, I had hoped that after going through the six month pre-op diet, having body-altering surgery, and losing 71+lbs, that the fat/body shaming and food policing I've endured from my own mother would have stopped, or at least lost its demeaning edge. I think this will be a forever issue, no matter how much weight I lose. My mom is one of those naturally thin women who was beautiful in her youth and who has grown old gracefully. In fact, she's even thinner now than when she was younger.

Imagine her disappointment at having three daughters who all developed weight problems, two of whom sought WLS surgeries to "fix" their obese bodies. I wasn't always fat, but my mother has always made me feel fat. My first recollection of her telling me "suck in you stomach" is from when I was 6 or 7 years old. I was a rail thin and wiry kid. I remember that one day, I was with my mom at this town-run recreational facility called Brookwood Hall. She was signing me and my brother up for summer camp. While we were walking the hallway to the sign-up table, we passed by several rooms where girls were taking ballet classes. I watched them as my mom signed us up for camp. Their bodies were beautiful, lithe, capable--they were leaping and two of them were in toe shoes in front of a mirror, pressing up to their tippy toes. I didn't know that was referred to as pointe, but I knew I wanted to do that.

When my mom was finished she came over and I told her, I want to take dance lessons. She smiled and wagged her skinny finger at me, "You have to be thin to be a ballerina, besides I signed you up for guitar lessons."

I hated the guitar lessons. I'm not even sure how long I took them, but each time we arrived for lessons, we had to walk down the hallway where the dance lessons were happening. I would always peek in the doorways. My mother would always coax me along, "You're going to be late for guitar." Guitar lessons consisted of me alone in a room with this man who made me feel self-conscious, with two guitars between us. I was just a kid, but I remember I didn't like him. Everything about the guitar in my hands felt foreign and cumbersome. Even the shoulder strap was too big for me. I never "got" guitar. My hands were small. I also never got dance lessons. I wasn't thin enough for dance lessons.

As a teenager, I thought I was fat. I must be fat, I thought because my brother is allowed to call me "fat ass" and my mother doesn't intervene. She laughs. Sometimes she tells me I should stop eating. I develop bulimia as a way to cope with not being thin enough. I was 5'3 and weighed 105 lbs. By the time I got to high school, my saving grace was that it was the 80's and fashion made it easy for me to hide my body--the body I thought was fat--the body my mother always confirmed was fat. My weight hovered between 102-108 lbs. The idea of getting to 110 lbs gave me fits of anxiety. I did tons of cardio and I took to waking up in the middle of the night to exercise. Roller skating was "in" back then, so I spent every weekend at the rink, speeding around in circles, dancing with my friends, pretending I was an adult. I got into horseback riding. Horses were a godsend because their bodies were big enough to conceal my weight. English style lessons made me giddy. I loved all of it--the caps, the fancy riding crops, the skinny saddles, the braided manes on the horses, and the straight proud way riders seated their steeds. I didn't love the riding britches, at least on me. When I tried on britches and jackets at a local tack shop, my mom mentioned that I'd "really have to suck in" while wearing them. I stopped taking lessons soon afterward, but remained active in horses, even getting one of my own that became my best friend. I switched to western style riding. No britches were necessary.

Throughout high school, I wore a long black very fashionable half-cape with fitted emo-sleeve arms and enough material that it hung well past my "fat ass." When the weather got too warm for the cape, I would switch to billowing shirts. I never wanted anyone to see my butt. It was offensively fat. I overheard two of the boys in class "rating" the girls. One, talking about me, said "I bet she has a nice butt, but I've never seen it." That was the first time in my life I had ever heard anyone make any kind of statement indicating that my body might not be totally offensively huge.

My oldest sister kept getting heavier. She had a son, and gained tons of weight during her pregnancy. She never lost the baby weight. One afternoon, she was standing in the backyard talking with one of her friends. Their kids were having a play date. They walked over to pet my horse. He came over and let everyone fuss over him, then he returned to his pile of hay in the middle of his paddock. It was a lazy summer afternoon. My sister was wearing a sundress. She and her friend rested their arms against the paddock fencing, watching the horse as they talked. My mom, my brother, and I were across the yard. My brother whispered about my sister, "Her ass is as big as the horse's!" and my mom laughed. It didn't matter that it was true, I didn't find it funny. I was repulsed. I said, "But her dress looks pretty" and my mom said, "It looks like a moo-moo. Like curtains." And, my brother started making low mooooo moooo sounds, mimicking a cow. They both cracked up.

As an adult, my mother would comment on my body at every opportunity. Before a family party, I asked her if I looked okay. I bought a new dress. It took me hours to find the right one that would balance out my fat bottom with the rest of me. She said "You look assy." I didn't eat a thing that night. I weighed 106 lbs.

When I did start getting earnestly fat, my mother's body shaming evolved into full-on fat shaming and food policing. During the past few years, I have dreaded every visit to my parents' house. There is a reason I live two states away. They would survey every morsel I put into my mouth. They would always have a comment about my body, always offer a new fad diet they'd hear about. Always.

So, last night, talking with my mom on the phone I figured that, now, it would be safe to discuss my progress with her after everything I have gone through--the six month medically supervised diet, the pre-op 800 calorie diet that I stuck to like glue, the surgery to reroute my intestines, reduce the size of my stomach, and give me severe lifelong malabsorption, and the recovery during which, I've dropped over 55 lbs (in four months). I am 71+lbs lighter than my starting weight, so when she asked how it's going, "it" always refers to my weight loss, I decided to tell her that I am down six pants sizes, I've lost 71 lbs, I feel great, my surgeon's office is satisfied with my progress, etc. She countered with "What size are you now?"

I don't know why I did it, because I stopped talking to my parents about my weight loss after my dad took to beginning every conversation with "How much did you lose now?" I've been telling him that I don't weigh myself, that I wait for my doctor's office to weigh me. But, I broke and told my mother my pants size and told her that sometimes that size is still not quite right. Sometimes, the cut means it won't work on my hips because my weight is mostly in my backside, hips, and upper thighs. She then said to me, "You know you're never going to lose your hips and ass. That's just your shape. Big." She then continued, "You're a thick girl." I then changed the subject to talk about my daughter and I visiting during Thanksgiving weekend and she interjected, "Am I going to have to buy special food now?" I explained that, no, they always have plenty of meat in the house and that she always makes a meat for dinner, so as long as I have that, I have all I need. I did tell her that I need to snack on protein foods throughout the day "I eat all the time now," I said. "You always did eat all the time," she laughed, "that's why you got the way you did."

It doesn't even matter that what she said is categorically untrue. I ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I would sometimes grab an afternoon snack if I had a long day. At their house, I would eat that snack because they don't eat dinner until 8:30-9:00 at night and I am used to dinner around 6 PM.

But, none of that matters. I will always be fat in her eyes. I will always have a body that is unacceptable to my mother. It doesn't matter that I've combatted severe dyslexia and dysgraphia to succeed in school even thought I was told by an advisor that I would never get through college. It doesn't matter that accelerated my studies, finishing 4 years of university in 2.5 years, and graduate summa cum laude. It doesn't matter that I then went on to earn a Master's degree and then a Doctorate. I will never be good enough because my body will never be acceptable. I will always be the thick girl. I will always be fat in my mother's eyes and she will always police my food.

And I no longer give a fuck.
I feel your pain! My parents were capable of and did this this to a very very small degree, nothing like yours though. I know how I felt so I can't imagine how wounded you are! As much as I miss my parents (both deceased now) I do think it's best I went on this journey AFTER they left this earth.

I'd seriously think about whether that thanksgiving trip is worth it.
 
Along with all the weight you have lost and will lose, you should lose your mother.
Sorry but that women is a bitch that doesn't deserve a child that has done a much
as you have to please her.
 
It is amazing the damage parents can do! Even well meaning parents, and frankly, it sounds like your mother wasn't and isn't so well meaning. I get the impression (granted I could be mistaken) that she enjoys your discomfort and pain, or, at best, is totally oblivious to it. Shame on her! I'll give your brother a little bit of leeway because he learned from your mother that this was acceptable behavior, but he's an adult now, so if he's still acting on this, shame on him too.
There are some people in our lives who are toxic, even if they are the very people who should be the most important, loving, and supportive people in our lives. You have figured out by now that she isn't going to change, she has no interest in changing, and that no matter how much you change and how much you accomplish in your life and how wonderful a person you are, she will never see beyond your weight (or former weight). You may need to simply remove her from your life. Sounds extreme, I know, but it's her choice to be toxic. You were stuck with her as a child, but no longer. It's your choice whether or not to include her in your life now, and if you choice not to include her, it's her loss.
 
Wow, what a sad story. You sound like an amazing woman and have accomplished so much. I also had a mother that told me I was fat and needed to diet (when I was in junior high), and yet my BMI was low normal. She kept comparing me to my anorexic sister; WTF. She thought my sister looked good. Anyways, I have very little contact with her as an adult and do not share my weight, clothing size, WLS with her. I’m much happier with people I call my “found” family. They are the ones that give me the unconditional love and support that my biological family doesn’t provide. I think you should minimize what you share with your toxic family members and limit in-person interactions with them too.
 
How can we go on allowing success or failure to be determined by a number on the scale?

Yet another reason I never had kids(one of many). I knew there was a good chance they would be fat and I never wanted to inflict that on anyone.

I knew I was fat before I was 2. My uncle called me obese and I had to ask my mom what the word meant.

I was invited to a grade school reunion a couple weeks ago. I couldn't afford to go but an old friend sent me a program that included a lot of my old class pictures I had not seen in decades. I wasn't as ugly gross and fat as I thought I was. I guess that all my life I looked at the world through someone else's glasses.
 
I was invited to a grade school reunion a couple weeks ago. I couldn't afford to go but an old friend sent me a program that included a lot of my old class pictures I had not seen in decades. I wasn't as ugly gross and fat as I thought I was. I guess that all my life I looked at the world through someone else's glasses.

Yeah, it was my grandmother who kept telling me (after I hit puberty at 12) that I would be pretty IF I lost weight, implying I wasn't pretty. She just didn't understand the damage that can do to a pre-teen/teen. My first stepmother also kept up the "you are fat" mantra. But she also screwed up her two daughters as well.

I weighed about what I do right now...low 140's. But decades of obesity has stretched the skin and my wings on my arms are the result of being obese for so many years. But I had it in my head even as a 17 year old that my arms were fat.

This photo was taken my senior year in high school (private boarding school) by my roommate. I can even remember the outfit that I was wearing that night. It was a one piece palazzo type jumpsuit that was fairly form fitting. And looking at my arms there and now, I can't EVER believe I thought I was fat. But you think what everyone tells you and I was constantly told I was fat.

liz_ashley_hall.jpg
 
It still amazes me, even as a senior adult, just how parents and other people in our lives can be so emotionally abusive and we tolerate it.

Next time you talk to your mother, and she asks about your weight, just respond with "I am sorry but that subject is no longer one I plan on talking about with you. And if you keep asking, I will hang up".

I'm going to have to take that stance, I think. She mentioned that my niece asked if I am still losing weight because I don't even post pictures of my weight loss. I don't post pictures of my weight loss because I don't want to invite commentary about my body from the people who have never had one good or positive thing to say about it. They don't get to "be proud" of my weight loss--I didn't get surgery to get their approval.
 
I feel your pain! My parents were capable of and did this this to a very very small degree, nothing like yours though. I know how I felt so I can't imagine how wounded you are! As much as I miss my parents (both deceased now) I do think it's best I went on this journey AFTER they left this earth.

I'd seriously think about whether that thanksgiving trip is worth it.

I'm sorry your parents have passed. Mine are getting old and I try to enjoy what time we have left together, but it's always about my body for them. The worst part about the Thanksgiving trip is that my boyfriend (we live together) can't come because he has to work that weekend. So, I am leaving the man I love for the holiday (our first since moving in together) and that's killing me. I am going to my parents because they are getting old and I want me and my daughter to spend as much time with them as possible while they are still with us, but my toxic family does not make that decision any easier.
 
It is amazing the damage parents can do! Even well meaning parents, and frankly, it sounds like your mother wasn't and isn't so well meaning. I get the impression (granted I could be mistaken) that she enjoys your discomfort and pain, or, at best, is totally oblivious to it. Shame on her! I'll give your brother a little bit of leeway because he learned from your mother that this was acceptable behavior, but he's an adult now, so if he's still acting on this, shame on him too.
There are some people in our lives who are toxic, even if they are the very people who should be the most important, loving, and supportive people in our lives. You have figured out by now that she isn't going to change, she has no interest in changing, and that no matter how much you change and how much you accomplish in your life and how wonderful a person you are, she will never see beyond your weight (or former weight). You may need to simply remove her from your life. Sounds extreme, I know, but it's her choice to be toxic. You were stuck with her as a child, but no longer. It's your choice whether or not to include her in your life now, and if you choice not to include her, it's her loss.

You're right. I have tried to remove them from my life and my daughter's life as much as possible without cutting ties. They are good parents in a lot of ways and good grandparents. My daughter loves them to pieces, but she also knows what miserable people they can be and she knows to ignore them when their conversations turn critical. This is why we live two states away. We used to live in the same town as them. The best thing I ever did was get space between them and my kid.
 
Wow, what a sad story. You sound like an amazing woman and have accomplished so much. I also had a mother that told me I was fat and needed to diet (when I was in junior high), and yet my BMI was low normal. She kept comparing me to my anorexic sister; WTF. She thought my sister looked good. Anyways, I have very little contact with her as an adult and do not share my weight, clothing size, WLS with her. I’m much happier with people I call my “found” family. They are the ones that give me the unconditional love and support that my biological family doesn’t provide. I think you should minimize what you share with your toxic family members and limit in-person interactions with them too.

I'm sorry you went through this too. I am not super social, so I don't have found family. I do have some great colleagues, a few good friends, and a man in my life who loves me exactly as I am. I'm very driven, professionally, so I honestly do not miss tons of social contact. It's likely that some of my aversion to social situations is due to the way I've felt about my body. Maybe this will change over time. I visited my parents fewer times last year than the years prior, and this year I will have visited three times if we include Christmas. I used to head down there 5-6 times a year. I miss them, but when we are there, I start counting the hours until I can leave again.
 
How can we go on allowing success or failure to be determined by a number on the scale?

Yet another reason I never had kids(one of many). I knew there was a good chance they would be fat and I never wanted to inflict that on anyone.

I knew I was fat before I was 2. My uncle called me obese and I had to ask my mom what the word meant.

I was invited to a grade school reunion a couple weeks ago. I couldn't afford to go but an old friend sent me a program that included a lot of my old class pictures I had not seen in decades. I wasn't as ugly gross and fat as I thought I was. I guess that all my life I looked at the world through someone else's glasses.

It's so funny you mentioned a worry that your kids would be fat--I had that same concern. Thankfully, my daughter's sperm donor of a "father" was 6'4 and she has his family's height. So, she looks like a supermodel with long legs and a perfect body. I've always told her that she is beautiful and always will be no matter what. I'm just glad she's free of the body image issues I had when I was growing up. Here's a pic of her with some of her sorority sisters, she's the tall gorgeous one on the far left. I don't even know how someone that stunning came from me lol.

22045923_1389431377845112_6422206134663564967_n.jpg
 
Yeah, it was my grandmother who kept telling me (after I hit puberty at 12) that I would be pretty IF I lost weight, implying I wasn't pretty. She just didn't understand the damage that can do to a pre-teen/teen. My first stepmother also kept up the "you are fat" mantra. But she also screwed up her two daughters as well.

I weighed about what I do right now...low 140's. But decades of obesity has stretched the skin and my wings on my arms are the result of being obese for so many years. But I had it in my head even as a 17 year old that my arms were fat.

This photo was taken my senior year in high school (private boarding school) by my roommate. I can even remember the outfit that I was wearing that night. It was a one piece palazzo type jumpsuit that was fairly form fitting. And looking at my arms there and now, I can't EVER believe I thought I was fat. But you think what everyone tells you and I was constantly told I was fat.

View attachment 1478

I so identify with the being told you would be pretty if you lost weight. My mother used to say that to me too after I got actually fat. Before that, back when I weighed well under 110 lbs, she would tell me "You have a very pretty face." That was code for "You have a fat body, but your face is okay, and if you lost weight, you might be pretty." I look back at old photos from my teen years and even from my 20's with the same wonder at how I believed I was fat. How the hell could anyone ever say that you were fat! You were tiny!
 
So many things come to mind - fortunately, as many problems as I have with my mother, this was not one of them (although I do blame her for my initial transition from plumpish to obese when I was in high school, which was because she took me to a "health food doctor" to try to treat my thyroid problems, and the quack told her to take me off thyroxine cold turkey and I gained 30 lbs in one month - she had good intentions but was stupid about science and medicine, and was looking for a natural fix for the genetic weight issues most of us had).

Anyway, my first thought was that you should write her an email or letter that goes something like this:

Dear Mom,

After our recent phone conversation - which I found extremely upsetting and offensive, as I always do when you inevitably and compulsively comment about my body - I wrote on a private support message board a long emotional essay about what I have experienced my whole life with you regarding these issues. I did not write it intending for you to read it, but members of this board - who have also struggled with their weight and the emotional issues which accompany being judged their whole lives - encouraged me to send this to you, raw and unedited, as it came directly from my heart.

[insert your post]

I have reached a point in my life, finally, where I no longer feel the need to tolerate your abuse, whether or not it was "intentional." To the extent that you are somehow cluelessly unaware of the nature of the pervasive hateful abuse you have inflicted upon me and my sister, and have transmitted and endorsed the "normality" of such behavior to my brother, I consider this essay your official notice that what you have done and continue to do is unacceptable and intolerable, and that you must cease and desist IMMEDIATELY.

If this essay does not move you to be shocked, appalled and horrified at what you have done to me and my sister our entire lives, and at least ACKNOWLEDGE (if not profusely and heartfeltly apologize for) this, and promise to never EVER let another comment about my body (positive OR negative - I don't want to hear ANYTHING from you on this topic!) escape your mouth ever again, I am afraid that I will not be attending Thanksgiving or any other event with you ever again, with the possible exception of your funeral.

Words matter - and can hurt far worse than sticks and stones. I am done with your casual cruelty, and will not allow you to hurt me or your granddaughter (who of COURSE has been aware of the appalling things you say since she was a child) ever again.

I acknowledge that by not saying anything before, I was complicit in allowing you to do this. But no more.

Think before you respond. I don't want to hear your self-serving justifications and explanations - you MUST simply accept that what you have done has been hurtful and destructive, whether you meant it or not, promise to never mention this issue ever again, and preferably but not necessarily (because I suspect you are incapable of doing so honestly), apologize for the hurt you have caused.

I love you, and always will. But I hope you love me enough to STOP, and make the rest of our years together loving - and indeed possible at all.
I don't KNOW that that's a good idea, but man, that's what I'd WANT to do.
 
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