This is for everyone who has ever called me fat. This is for the times you asked me if maybe wanted an apple instead. This is for the time you made me work out in 90 degree weather when I had a cold. This is for the time you told me I needed to go to the gym, and for when you told me I looked “fatter after eating”. This is for America, and for my family, and for my ex, and for my future daughter, and for lots of people I’ve never met.
This is for my mother, who hasn’t worn a tank-top or a bathing suit since I was 3. This is for my sister, who tried to ensure that my life as a chubby girl wasn’t as awful as hers was.
I am tired. I am exhausted. I am fed up. I am enraged. I am disappointed. I am let down.
But I am not unhappy, and I am not unhealthy, and I am not unattractive.
I have only ever felt bad about myself when you have made me. I have lived. I have accomplished, I have succeeded. I have danced, I have swam, I have had sex, I have traveled, I have had a job, I have loved and been loved.
So why do I need to lose weight, again?
What’s wrong with my body, again?
Clearly being a little overweight must be a problem. But it’s not with my health, since I’m perfectly healthy. And it’s not with my habits since I eat well and exercise. And it’s not with my confidence, since I love myself.
I’m sorry that you feel ugly because of your weight. I’m sorry if you didn’t get the job you wanted, or the guy you liked, because of your weight. I’m sorry if you were depressed or you are now. I’m sorry if other people made fun of you or hurt you or still do.
But these extra pounds don’t seem to be hurting me, or you.
So I’d really like it if you could leave me alone.
