Weighty Matters

Being overweight isn’t easy.  In restaurants people stare at your plate.  In airplanes they size up your hips and look disgusted when you sit near them.  At job interviews they ask about your health because they are rightly concerned that it might cause their insurance to go up.  They sometimes call you names or say mean things as you are walking by.

The only time I ever saw my husband ready to fight someone was when a stranger called me a fat-bxxxx as we were leaving a theater.  I had to tug my sweet defender out the door – he was furious, the comment bothered him far more than it bothered me.

Anyone severely overweight has probably dealt with similar comments and disgusted looks. Sadly, at times it is almost normal.  With the exception of those really mean people who like to call you bad names. I believe that most people don’t really mean any harm.  They just see life through a different lens and have no idea what life on my side of the table feels like.

What I have found is that the comments of friends bother me far more than the comments of strangers.  Friends often have no filter and say the first thing that pops into their head. (I’ve been guilty of that before too.) One friend, a roommate at a convention, walked around the corner to use her phone, trying to make sure I wouldn’t hear her and whispered, “You should see Claudine now.  She’s fat.  She used to be so beautiful.”

Sadly, that isn’t the only time I’ve cringed over the years.  Here are a few more things that only an overweight person would hear:

You have a beautiful face.  The first time I heard this it was sweet.  I was only slightly overweight and didn’t give it too much thought. After that, while I appreciated the sincerity and the fact I was receiving any compliment at all, it always reminded me that my face was singled out because the rest of me was not so beautiful.

If you would just not eat so much you could lose weight.  Always hurtful and usually from someone who never struggled with weight, this one made me feel judged.  Forever after, when sharing a meal, I was on-guard with them, worried that the plate-police were going to show up.

When is your baby due? Or Are you pregnant?  This happened often (even last week), especially during childbearing years. I always laughed and tried to make light of it because I knew it embarrassed them too.  “No, I’m just a plus-sized girl,” I’d say with a grin.  I realize that they genuinely thought I was expecting, especially since they hadn’t seen me for a while.  But these days, every protruding stomach does not mean a pregnancy.  Especially when you are my age – although I do take it as a compliment now.

You should be ashamed of yourself.  (Yes, this was a friend’s reaction when she saw an earlier photo of me during my modeling days.)  It was years ago and she probably doesn’t remember it …but I do.  It was when my body first betrayed me and my weight began to climb.  Her comment heaped guilt on my already broken spirit.

Actually, “the shoulds” are pretty common.

You should try the South Beach Diet. (Or whatever diet they are on.)

You should come with me to Zumba. (Or whatever exercise program they are using.)

You should eat less.

You should eat more vegetables.

You should weigh yourself every morning for motivation.

You should tell yourself to stop eating. (Love that one.)

One of the most hurtful experiences came at the hand of two co-workers as we sat around the break table.  They were discussing a couple of exercise programs they had been doing together at our church.  One was a class taught by my son, which was why I had joined the conversation in the first place.

At one point I made the comment, “I really would be afraid to do any of that anyway.”

They didn’t ask why and I didn’t volunteer.  They seemed to make the assumption that I just didn’t want to go to the class.  No one ever asked the reason why I couldn’t go.

After that, their conversation changed and became a back and forth that was directed at me, although they never spoke to me.

“People don’t realize that if they would just not eat so much they could lose weight.”

“I know, I read the other day about the benefits of just a few minutes of walking a day.”

“Overweight people just don’t understand that a little will go a long way.”

“I feel so good when I exercise that I can’t imagine not doing it.”

“I lost weight doing low-carbs and eating lots of vegetables.”

It went back and forth and back and forth for several minutes.

I was sitting right next to them. I lowered my head pretending that I wasn’t listening.  I tried to read my book.  Eventually though my hurt overcame my silence.

Looking at the friend I knew best I said, “You have no idea about my story.  You don’t know about our depression and our illness.  You don’t have any idea of the pain or the work that it took to get well.  You don’t know about the fall I’ve had, or the doctor’s visits or the pain.  You are thin, you’ve always been thin.  I feel you are making an assumption on something you have never talked to me about or tried to understand.”

Taken aback, she simply said, “You’re right.  I don’t know about that.”

If that had been the end it would have been fine.  But without any kind of filter the other co-worker, now feeling defensive because of my comment, said, “How old are you?  How old?  You have so many things wrong; you limp around and talk about things hurting. How old are you?”

Feeling cornered, I stammered out, “I just turned fifty-one.”

“Fifty-one? Really? Fifty-one? Well, you act like you are older than me.  I thought you were at least a 60-year-old woman.”

My heart broke. I tried to hide it.  The other friend, sensing my pain, came to my defense at that point. “You are right. We really don’t know your story and I don’t think you look sixty years old.”  (She had to say that, she had known me since college.)

Her comments changed the conversation but came too late…the damage was done.  Unless you are a teenager, no woman wants to be told she looks nearly a decade older than she really is.

That was a low point.

Thankfully, I made a decision long ago that I even though words hurt, I was going to do my best to learn from them.  I couldn’t change how they made me feel, but I could change my response to them.  I am not perfect.  I’ve unintentionally said hurtful things before.  Sometimes my words have hurt another deeply.  I want forgiveness for those things.  How could I not grant it for the words my friends didn’t even know had caused me pain?  Staying angry would only make those words seem heavier and I don’t need the extra weight.

Looking back, for every ugly thing that has been said to me…someone has been kind.

For every tear I’ve cried…there has been far more laughter.

For every medical issue I’ve struggled with…I have received an education in hope, health and healing.

For every feeling of insecurity on the outside…I have had the opportunity to discover more about who I am on the inside, where no one but God can see.

In my twenties, a favorite song was Rose Colored Glasses by Wayne Watson.

“His gaze always passes thru rose colored glasses, every time He looks on my heart.

And thru love’s forgiveness, thru purity’s fire, I am my God’s desire.”

I love that!

No matter how much hurt I carry.  No matter what kind of words I’ve heard.  HE sees me with eyes of love and desires a relationship with me.  HE knows the number of hairs on my head (and rolls on my tummy) and offers me unmerited love when I feel ugly and ashamed.   

It hasn’t always been easy, but it has been good.

I’ve learned lessons from this weight that I would

never have learned if I hadn’t carried it.

Understanding how God sees me has helped me understand who I really am.  It’s given me a confidence and boldness to look at others differently.  It’s made me more sympathetic.  It’s made me wise.  It’s taught me to try to always see others, even those unintentionally-mean friends, through the filter of His love.

To me, that seems a small price to pay for good vision.