Dear world:

What do you want from me?

I spent the first twenty years of my life “too fat” by your standards.  I was heckled, ridiculed, ostracized, and abused.

When I was in grade school, the kids would warn one another that I might eat them, or (worse yet) sit on them if they made me upset.

In middle school, I was ridiculed. Teased, voraciously and cruelly, by anyone that needed an ego-boost to get through their day.

In high school, I faced the worst of the abuse: I was ignored. I faded into the background, the lockers clanging and bells ringing, and no one really bothered to look for me beyond help with test questions and customized study guides.

For the last decade, I’ve worked to take control of my body.

I developed (and fought to overcome) an eating disorder as an adult. I dieted and I binged; I exercised and I purged; I succeeded and I failed.

In the last few years, I gained balance (for the most part) of my body.

I eat healthy and clean, but savor my fair share of chocolate. I exercise heavily and frequently, but make time to lay in a hot bath and veg.

I’ve gone from my peak weight – 214 pounds – down to 125.

I’m less than five weeks away from my 30th birthday and, for the first time in years, I feel like I’m back in school. Except now instead of being called fat, people call me “skinny.” Why does it hurt just as much?

“You’re too thin.”
“You’ve lost too much weight.”
“You look sickly.”
“You need to stop.”

When I was fat, everyone – children and adults alike – felt it was their right, their privilege, to pass judgment on my body.

I was “unhealthy,” and they needed me to know it. I was “unhealthy,” and they needed to set me straight. Maybe a little tough love would do the trick?

Now, at 5’3″ and 125 pounds, their civil responsibility has returned. My body isn’t right, and it’s their duty to remind me as often as they can, lest I forget.

I eat 1,200-1,900 calories per day.
I exercise 4-6 days per week.
I eat chocolate.
I eat chips.
I count calories, but don’t deny myself the things I enjoy.
I love to run.

I am strong. I am healthy. I am finally nearing a place where *I* am OK with my body.

Yet the world is not.

Why is my weight someone else’s business?

Why is my body the subject of someone else’s conversation?

Too fat, too thin, too big, too small.

What, exactly, do you want from me, world?

When am I allowed to be happy with my body? When will YOU be happy with my body?

And why do I care what you think?

Feeling dejected today,

~ Tori