Let me preface this by saying that I know what I’m about to write is extremely unfair. I am well aware that there is almost no one in my life who is intentionally trying to be cruel, everyone just wants to help. And I appreciate that, I really and truly do. This is just something I have to get off my chest.

Please, for the love of God, don’t tell me I’m skinny.

It’s not that I don’t believe you – well, I mean, I probably don’t, but that’s not the point.

To be honest, there is a huge part of me that loves hearing that kind of thing. This is not unique to me; considering the societal pressure we are constantly under to be thin, I’m sure that would be taken positively by just about anyone. It’s a compliment to be called skinny. And that’s all well and good, except that what if you’re not?

Since treatment, I’ve gone from a size 0 to a size 4. “But don’t worry,” I’m told constantly. “You’re still skinny.”

So apparently a size 4 is still okay.

But what if I get to a 6? Or a 10? At what point am I no longer thin? At what point will the comments just cease altogether, out of politeness? At what size will I know, miserably, beyond all doubt, that I no longer fit into the category I’ve mangled and manipulated my body to reach?

When I was at my lowest weight, I was dying. Yeah, actually dying. You want to know why? My body wasn’t meant to be that small. I can cry and whine about it all I want, but the good Lord did not make me to fit into size 0 jeans. And there is 100% absolutely positively nothing I can do about that.

In order to live a healthy life, I have to accept that I’m never going to be as skinny as I feel like I should be. And that’s really, really hard. But I will never be able to let go of my fixation on the size of my body if I’m constantly worried about…well, the size of my body. The inner dialogue of “I’m okay right here but I can’t gain any more weight” is only a very small step away from “I have to lose weight,” but that step is very dangerous. And frankly, I’m not interested in taking it.

So don’t tell me I’m skinny. It may be true, it may not be true, but I’m not interested. Tell me I’m funny. Tell me you like my outfit. Tell me I’m smart or strong or friendly. Hell, tell me you think I’m annoying. Just make sure it’s something that I can control. Tell me something that matters.


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