It wasn’t okay to call me fat.
You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?
After all, you never technically used the word “fat” to describe me in the present tense, a fact you continued to hide behind throughout our relationship. Like the technicality that you were referring to my past self and not my present self would somehow make it okay.
Remember the first time you made a comment about it? You knew me for years before you dated me, so you’d seen me go from a size 10 to an 4. (Funny how you only told me how you felt when I shrunk.) In the first few weeks of us being together I asked if you could get me a brownie from my favourite shop that you walked past every morning.
“Haha, don’t get fat again,” you texted back.
We fought. I cried. Instead of telling you where to stick it, I angrily told you how hard I’d worked to get this way and explained all the stopgaps I’d put in place to make sure it never happened again. I reassured you I had it under control instead of telling you to f*ck off from commenting on my body.
That “joke” moment changed something for me. I’d been proud of my hard work and loving my new body. Now I became worried that you were paying such close attention to what I looked like. It struck a nerve that you had to know was there. You reminded me that I could so easily gain weight again and started a permanent fear in me.
Are there any circumstances under which it’s acceptable to comment on someone’s weight? The Mamamia Out Loud team discuss. Post continues after audio…
The next day there was an apology brownie on my desk. But instead of enjoying it, I was so worried you’d think I’d get fat again that I made that tiny brownie last two weeks. I ate a sliver every couple of days, to show you how great my willpower was.