There are a lot of things that can rub me the wrong way, especially if I’m not in a good mood to begin with. One of those lovely things, is when people talk or make comments about weight. Everybody is different. Some are thin, some are big, some are short, and some are tall. However, I believe pride in your body makes you beautiful…
Too bad my family disagrees. Not most of my family, just my mother and grandmother. Tonight, we had my 10 year old cousin and his mother (my mother’s younger sister) over for dinner. Now, there is a lot of tension between my aunt, her husband, and their two children and my family. When they come over for dinner, it is usually awkward and nobody really eats anything because we’re too busy trying to put on a happy face.
Needless to say, that by the time my aunt and cousin left, I was still pretty hungry. I had eaten some dinner and some dessert, but nothing that I would consider a meal. I picked at my plate, while I internally cringed at the fake, awkward voice my mother gets when she tries to act like she’s having a grand old time. It’s usually half an octave higher than her normal voice. When they left, I had some cereal and a bagel because that’s what I eat when I don’t want to cook. I’m a poor, broke college student, and cereal is easy.
I’m eating, and my father asks me, “What are you eating? You’ve been eating all night!”
My mother responds to my shrug with, “No, you need to stop eating. You eat all the time.”
For the past two weeks, I have dealt with the ridicule and criticism that has been directed toward me about my body. I’ve taken up exercising, I only eat when hungry, and I do my best to drink a lot of water. I am busty, actually busty is an understatement. I have a 30G bra size that only seems to be getting bigger no matter what type of exercise I do or what food I eat. I do my best to stay healthy because I don’t want to get sick when I get older. I don’t want diabetes or cancer, which happens to run in my family. I want to make it past the age of sixty-two, which is the average life-expectancy of my family. However, with the amount of ridicule I get, I have begun to hate my body more and more every day. I’m self conscious of my chest, I’m self conscious of my stomach, and the more I worry about it, the more I slip back into my old self-loathing ways. I don’t want to skip meals like I used to, or hurt myself because I don’t know what to do. I’m twenty-one years old. I should be independent. This is my body. I should be proud of it. Curves are supposed to be beautiful, and sometimes, I feel beautiful. I want to be healthy and happy, and it seems almost impossible.
I’m such a daddy’s girl, it’s not even funny. I try to succeed in everything I do, just to make him proud. He hardly ever says anything about what I eat or what I look like. However, my father has been laying it on thick these past two weeks as well.
My mother seems to pick apart everything about my appearance because I don’t try hard enough to make myself look girly like my two younger sisters. Then I confront her about it, and she tells me that she didn’t mean it and that my body is fine. Contradictions pour from her mouth, and I’m just so tired of it.
I want to be a person who is proud of their body. I love my family. I do. I just think I’m getting to a point in my life, where I need to be by myself instead of living at home, where I can’t seem to ignore the fact that I’m not the size three, small chested girl I used to be. I go back up to school on Wednesday. I can’t wait…