I entered my classroom, prepared to guide my 23 writing students through a lesson on audience awareness. Before I even caught sight of them, I overheard whispers about someone looking frail. It hit me hard; they were discussing me. When they realized I was there, they scattered awkwardly, leaving me to pretend I hadn’t overheard yet another conversation centered around my body.
During the previous Thanksgiving break, I had fallen ill with a stomach virus. Juggling my first semester teaching college freshmen alongside graduate school was overwhelming. I was constantly creating lesson plans, grading papers, and managing a mountain of reading and writing. My body seemed to finally signal that it needed a break.
As I recovered over three days, I noticed I had lost a few pounds—my jeans felt looser than usual. However, as time passed, I didn’t regain that weight; instead, I continued to shed pounds.
At first, I was on the receiving end of compliments. Women at the gym would ask if I had lost weight, and when I confirmed, they would nod approvingly, eager to know my “secret.” I ended up buying new clothes, and the young sales associates would express envy that I could eat whatever without gaining weight. But as the weight continued to drop, the compliments morphed into hurtful comments.
One day at the gym, an older man looked me up and down and bluntly told me, “Eat a burger.” I was left speechless, caught off guard by his rudeness.
My graduate school classmates seemed to take an interest in my eating habits, even following me to the bathroom to see if I was throwing up the snacks I consumed during class. A concerned professor told me to stop losing weight, assuming I was doing it on purpose.
The truth was that I was constantly hungry and drinking lots of water. I visited five different doctors who offered varying theories about my extreme thirst, hunger, and weight loss. One doctor even suggested I was simply being dramatic or had an eating disorder.
Here’s the reality: being thin was incredibly difficult for me. While health concerns were paramount, the relentless commentary about my appearance made things much worse. Each snide remark chipped away at my already fragile self-esteem.
I remember an acquaintance once suggesting I should “try to bulk up a bit.” I nodded in response, tears welling in my eyes.
One spring day, my husband rushed me to the emergency room because I was struggling to breathe and felt utterly drained. Blood tests revealed my blood sugar was dangerously high at 700, leading to a diagnosis of type 1 diabetes, which had gone undetected for 14 months. Weight loss was a common symptom.
After a five-day hospital stay, I began to regain weight quickly. However, I still faced a barrage of comments from friends and family, many saying, “I was so worried about you.” Almost all of them followed up with, “You look so much better now.”
Reflecting on that experience, it’s clear how harmful comments about weight and body image can be. Regardless of the reasons behind someone’s body type, unsolicited remarks can be toxic. Whether disguised as compliments or not, body shaming is real, damaging, and dehumanizing.
It took years for me to heal from the body shaming I had endured. I had to learn to accept myself and forgive others—especially those who never offered an apology. I didn’t want to carry the burden of others’ judgments any longer. My experience, while tough, was brief compared to what many women face throughout their lives, and I empathize deeply with them.
Navigating the world as a woman with any body type is exhausting, especially when you’re subjected to unwarranted negativity. All we want is to enjoy our food without someone else’s critical gaze looming over us. For further insights into the nuances of body image and health, consider checking out this informative post on home insemination and how it connects to self-image.
Ultimately, we all deserve to feel comfortable in our skin, free from judgment.