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I am 5’3” and I weigh 120 pounds. Yay me. And I am
just as entitled to worry about my health and appearance as you are.
The problem I have with you is that you don’t seem to believe that I am
just as entitled to TALK about it as you are.
Today I was on the elevator with two of you, my
coworkers, heading to lunch. You were talking about how you wanted the
ribs or the fried chicken but should probably just have the mandarin
salad with lite dressing and a glass of water, and what would I be
having?
I informed you that I like the cheeseburgers at this restaurant, and was considering ordering one.
You both narrowed your eyes at me. Whatever, you
said, at your age you can eat anything you want, cheeseburgers, all of
that, you don’t know what it’s like to have to watch your weight.
Yes, I pointed out. Yes I do.
One of you looked me up and down and said yeah right, it wouldn’t hurt me to put on a few pounds.
I pointed out that I am a perfectly healthy weight
right now (I owe that to my Depo shots, without which I would still be
a gangly 105 pounds soaking wet) and I intend to stay that way. So yes,
I am watching my weight. Exercise, I say, that’s where I really need to
step up. I may be skinny but I have terrible muscle tone.
Again, you sniffed and rolled your eyes.
What is your problem, people? Is it so wrong of me
to say that I want to take care of my body and I realize that I could
have healthier habits? Just because my problems are not the same as
your problems gives you no right to be rude about it. And I tell you
this: you are rude. Rude, I say.
You’ll see, you say, gray-haired and ageist. You’ll see, when you get older and you’re not 100 pounds anymore, it won’t be easy.
Ladies, it’s not easy for me NOW. I have to fight
to keep weight on while I’m trying to keep my hypertensive diastolic
under control. That in itself is a quandary, because steamed veggies
are great for my blood pressure and don’t help me maintain my weight. I
don’t like that my muscles aren’t what they used to be, so I exercise
and you sniff that I don’t need to get any skinnier. You’re right, I
don’t. Until I started my Depo-Provera shot and gained 15 pounds, I was
pale, anemic and basically had no immune system. And back then you said
I was anorexic and bulimic. You said it was my fault. You were never
happy with my body and you never will be until I start wearing clothes
in double-digit sizes.
Guess what? I have a little pudge on my tummy and
I don’t like it. I should probably do some crunches. I have cellulite
on my ass and my thighs and I don’t like that either. Maybe I need to
get out the weights and do a few squats. There are things I can do to
be healthier, and do you really want to discourage me from doing them?
Does it make you feel better about yourself to be rude to the skinny
girl, to belittle her problems because they happen to be the opposite
of your own?
Sometimes the grass sucks on this side of the fence too.
I eat cheeseburgers because I like them and I need
to keep my weight up, I exercise because I need better muscle tone and
it helps lower my high blood pressure (My cholesterol, by the way, is
quite fine). And you tell me to enjoy it while I can, because I am
surely doomed to one day be as fat as you perceive yourself to be.
Leave the labels out of it: fat and skinny and
obese and scrawny and plus-size and anorexic and all the others. Good
health is the best goal for all of us, whether that means gaining
weight, losing weight, maintaining weight, working out, watching what
we eat, or building our self-esteem in what we are. I don’t want to be
skinny and sick any more than you want to be overweight and fighting
your own set of health issues. So we have a common goal and we both
struggle. Don’t tell me we’re so different.
Healthy is beautiful.
