Member-only story
When Kids Talk About Fat Bodies
The history of hurt around my body wasn’t authored by children, but by adults
My brother called 12 years ago. His wife was, he told me, pregnant. For the first time, I was going to be an aunt.
I was excited, if nervous, about how it would shift my relationship with my brother. He had always been so warm and loving with children that raising his own seemed like an inevitability. In high school, when paired with a first grader for mentorship, he would speed the two of us home from school. (“I have to get home by 3:30. Battle Bots is on and it’s Billy’s favorite.”) He loved children, and his easy charm and matter-of-fact style often made the feeling mutual. I suspected that he and his wife would be great parents, and that my mother would be thrilled at the prospect of a grandchild.
When I thought about myself, though, I clenched, happiness overshadowed by anxiety. A baby would soon become a toddler, a toddler would soon become a child. And children had long taken on the ruthless task of naming of the body I otherwise strove to keep out of conversation. Children, after all, weren’t concerned with social graces, with politeness or impoliteness. They were observers, constantly learning, doing their best to make sense of the world around them.
In the years ahead, this beloved child would have to make sense of a body like mine. How could I possibly explain myself?
I was 23 at the time, and desperate to become invisible. I was still dieting, endlessly dieting, trying desperately to shrink a stubbornly static body. I was certain my body was an objective, indefensible failure, and the world around me agreed. Any comments about my appearance—positive or negative—called attention to the simple fact of a body I longed to forget. I did not want to be noticed, described, or mentioned. Like “Bloody Mary” chanted into a mirror, I was terrified of manifesting some specter of a demon, calling my body into being.
My body was an unpleasant fact, and one even loved ones felt permission to bemoan openly.
But that fear wasn’t a figment of my imagination. Classmates, strangers, and acquaintances regularly commented on my body as freely…
