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I don’t need saving

Fat Mum Slim /

chantelle

I’ve been fat for pretty much most of life, besides a few crazy moments of being less-fat, but for the most part I’ve existed on this earth with a little more meat on my bones than desirable.

This upsets people, or at least stirs something inside some of them that makes them feel ill at ease, or to presume that I’m partly {or completely} broken because… I’m fat.

I’ll never forget the time that I innocently went to get my eyebrows done, and came out feeling like I was the most broken person on the earth. She tried to fix me. Unprompted, the brow-stylist presumed that because I was indeed overweight that my whole life was broken. She spent a good part of those 30 minutes lecturing me on how I need to take my husband out on dates, and that I needed to get my daughter into a routine like her kids, and of course, how I could lose weight. I wanted to run the heck out of there, but with only one perfectly groomed eyebrow I stayed. I did it for the eyebrows.

I never went back, mind you.

My marriage was/is awesome. My daughter was in her own little routine that worked for us. And my weight, well that’s something I’m always working on or thinking about or trying to do something about, but I didn’t need her to save me.

I have noticed I’m fat, mind you. I notice every day. It’s not something that I’ve avoided my whole life and finally got to 35, looked in the mirror and thought, ‘Oh shit, look at that. I’m fat. When did that happen?’

I was getting a massage the other week, not just a normal massage, but a special one where the therapist digs her fingers in and unhooks your tissue from your bones… and it feels as bad as it sounds. But afterwards, OHMYGAWD, it’s the best thing ever. My back had been hurting for a few weeks and I told her that I’d successfully been losing weight and looking after myself, and was pretty proud of myself. She swooped in for the save, “You know what you could try? You should try X!” X being pre-packaged, mass-produced, home-delivered diet food. If my back wasn’t so bad I might have jumped off the bed and exclaimed, “What? Diet Food? I’ve never heard of it before! Yay! I’m cured.”

I know she was being kind and helpful, but did she totally miss the part where I said I was doing really well at the weightloss thing?

Apparently being fat means you can’t make life decisions, and definitely can not make decisions about food… and even if you’re doing well, it’s not good enough. I was polite, of course. I lay on the table, as she swiftly removed a bone from my leg and placed it in my arm {or at least it felt like that’s what she did}. I made reassuring noises, and waited for the topic to pass.

I might be fat, but I don’t need saving. Just because there’s that one very obvious, physical thing happening {a jiggle when I walk}, doesn’t mean I suck at living. My weight isn’t all of me, it’s just one part of me. I won’t try and fix you, so please don’t try and fix me.

@Fatmumslim