Fat Bottomed Girls, You Make the Rockin' World Go Round

Last week, our 20-something family counselor, after a conversation about health and weight in which I stated that I had resolved myself to the weight I'm at because I can't lose anymore, replied: "Sure you could. If you just TRIED harder". She then proceeded to tell me about calorie counting and exercise because, of course, at 44 years old I'd never heard of those things before.

When she volunteered her own height and weight, I commented to her that we were actually almost exactly the same. Looking perturbed at being compared to someone she clearly felt was overweight, she said: "Yes, but everybody is different. I have a lot of muscle because I exercise and lift weights".

Bitch, I'm about to lift weights right now and toss you out my fucking window. I was incensed. I was hurt. But, goddammit, I am okay with my weight and accept my womanly self completely so, FUCK HER.

But as the days went by, I saw that that little grenade of a comment was about to detonate inside me revealing the still very disordered and wounded self-image I've been carrying my whole life. Not only was her comment hurtful, it was mean considering I'd shared with her a lifelong battle with disordered eating and weight. And, even though she'd shared her own intense fear of "getting fat" with me, it did not make me feel better. It made me feel sad. Sad that this woman, who is college educated and serves as a counselor to families and troubled youth, was clearly just as fucked up as I was.

So, in the days that followed, as I obsessed about food, weighed myself several times a day, and studied all of my fat in the mirror while wondering how she saw me as so much larger than she, I decided to discontinue with her as our family counselor. Because she's not where I am. She has not had children. She has not grown human beings in her body. She has not gained 60 pounds or more while pregnant and then frantically tried to lose it all. She has not inhaled as much food as she could get her hands on while breastfeeding. She does not understand peri-menopause - or fibromyalgia - or autoimmune diseases. She does not understand depression or how fragile the rebuilt ego actually is. She does not understand the deep, lifelong effects of sexual abuse. She does not understand what it feels like to contemplate suicide because you hate your body. She does not understand the mental energy it takes to just be OKAY with yourself. She does not understand compassion.

Her Kent education and subsequent master's degree be damned, she is not educated enough or mentally well enough to counsel us.

So, to her I say; Do not give people diet advice when they didn't ask for it. Spend some time interning in eating disorder units. Talk to people who are struggling with food addictions and obesity. When someone is feeling bad about themselves, ask them about what else is going on for them instead of confirming what they already fear most about themselves - that they are wrong the way they are.

I also want to say to her; Thank you. Thank you for making me revisit this issue within myself. Thank you for triggering my disordered thinking so I could re-affirm for myself that I am fine the way I am. Thank you for making me remember that I was insane when I was caught in the cycle of starving, bingeing and purging. That no matter what the scale says, I have an obligation to my children to stay sane. I have an obligation to be well. Thank you for making me remember that I have normal cholesterol. I have normal blood pressure. I have normal blood sugar. Thank you for making me remember why I can't go back there again. Whatever the number on the scale reads.

And lastly, you can go fuck yourself.

 Love,
 Morgen and her big fat ass.



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