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I Eat Plenty & No, I Don’t Want To Use My Mother’s Discount Card

July 5, 2010 | Filed in: Femme Writes,Life

I took this photo a couple of weeks ago, when I was shopping for pants at Target. I thought about writing about this then, but then the Femme Write’s topic for July was announced and I decided to wait until today to finally spill my proverbial body issue beans.

Take a good look at that photo. Pay no attention to the picture quality (it’s a camera phone pic from inside a Target dressing room for chrissakes). Just look at me. I am five feet tall. According to Wii fit, as of this morning I weigh 100.5 lbs and have a BMI of 19.74.

How many of you looked at that picture, read my stats and automatically assumed I was bragging and sarcastically thought “well good for you, we should all be so lucky”? Be honest. How many thought “Jesus, don’t you ever eat anything?” or “oh great, some skinny bitch is going to complain about how fat she thinks she is” and wanted to click away?

Every day I read blog posts and articles from the point of view of women who are struggling with their sizes. They worry about people judging them and thinking badly about them. They write about all of the stereotypes they have to fight against and how they wish people would take the time to get to know them instead of just being judged on what number might be assigned to the size of their pants. There are beautiful and poignant posts written by women who have kept their weight a secret from their readers because they were afraid of being judged. They write about how irritated they get by all of the “skinny bitches” who can eat whatever they want. They write about how they just want to shove food into the mouths of people who are smaller than they are because they have it “so easy.” There is both a delicious and malevolent irony in these posts: these same women who cry over being judged because of their weight turn around and do the very same thing to someone else.

But that’s okay. It’s okay to hate people who are smaller than you simply because they are smaller. It’s okay to think angry thoughts about and judge someone like me. And it isn’t okay for me to be angry about the very same things that make these other women angry. I am not allowed to be annoyed because, according to some height/weight chart somewhere, I am “normal” or “thin.”

I’m not allowed to complain about not being able to find clothing that fits me properly because all of the designers have vanity sized me right out of my own clothing department. I’m not allowed to complain about feeling gross after eating too much. I’m not even really allowed to talk about how I want to be healthier and eat better. I’m not allowed to complain when my pants feel too tight. I’m not allowed to hate the way I look or the way I feel inside of my own body sometimes. I’m not allowed to be annoyed by all of the snap judgments that get volleyed in my direction every time I leave the house. I? Am only allowed to be perfectly happy and content with myself because, according to the status quo, I’m “skinny.”

I’m not allowed to talk about the shame I feel when I try on pair after pair after pair of pants and not a single one of them fits right. I’m not allowed to talk about what it’s like to stand in a dressing room and have to fight against tears as yet again, something that I should be able to fit into–something that is made for someone who is my age and who has my curves does not fit because I am either too short for the legs or have the wrong sized waist. I’m not allowed to talk about how humiliating it is to have to buy my clothing (all of it) in the children’s section. I’m not supposed to talk about the way my self esteem plummets when I have to buy bras that have tags featuring pictures of pre-pubescent girls squealing “growing up is sooooo comfortable!” on them.

Do I even have to tell you how hard it is to carry my “choices” to a register and then be asked “is your Mom around? Does she have a store card you can use?”

This photo was taken a few months ago (and, honestly, is proof that I probably need some kind of supervision to keep me from goofing off when I’m supposed to be working, but whatever). Three weeks ago, at my friend’s wedding, one of the servers gave me a kid meal instead of the meal I had requested. They didn’t even check to see what kind of meal I had listed next to my place setting–they just set down the basket of chicken fingers and fries and walked away. It all got sorted out (we just put that basket at an empty place setting at the table and then asked our server for the right meal), but things like that happen all the time. I regularly have to show my ID at R and sometimes at PG-13 movies. I have to show my ID when I’m with someone who is buying alcohol–when I go with Will to the liquor store (he’s not a beer drinker, he’s a Jack and soda guy) they won’t even let me in past the counter. I’ve been asked if I need the class supply lists when I shop for office supplies near the end of the summer. Not so very long ago I was looking through a rack of clothing and heard “Mom, she doesn’t have to have a parent with her when she shops, why do I?” and when I looked over, sure enough some kid was pointing at me. I didn’t stick around to hear the mother’s response.

And, again, I hear over and over again how lucky I am. How I should be grateful to be so young looking. How someday I’ll wish I still looked so young. I’ve had people look at me and say “you should just be happy. I wish I looked that young.”

And you know–I don’t understand it. No. No you don’t wish you looked this young. Do you know why? Because when you look this young, it doesn’t matter how old you actually are, people talk to you like you are an idiot. Normally perfectly conversant adults switch to a sing songy voice when they talk to me and dumb down their language. I get told “oh you probably don’t know what that means.” I have had to fight like hell just to be “allowed” to grow up (which, really, is its own post). And you know–okay. I look young. We all make snap decisions about people we don’t know–I’ve talked about that already. But! When these same adults who just tried to give me a vocabulary lesson on some word (that they don’t actually understand) find out how old I really am, they! freak! out! And then it’s “Oh my God! No you’re not! HELEN! COME OVER HERE AND LOOK AT THIS GIRL AND GUESS HOW OLD SHE IS! OH MY GOD!” And the pointing! And the staring! And the huge deal making!

Hello world, I am my own carnie side show act and all I have to do is sit here and breathe.

I won’t lie to you Marge, it’s rough. We all feel like freaks. No matter who we are, how old we are or how we’re built, we all have times when we hate the shells we’re stuck in. I know that part of the point of this theme is to be all “rah! Sister Power! We rule! Yeaaahhhh!” And I’d like to tell you that for the most part I’m okay with who I am. And I am: for who I am on the inside I am better than okay. For who I am on the inside, I’m kind of a badass…even if not too many other people realize it yet.

But on the outside– it would be nice to just blend in–in any way that is normal for a 32 year old woman (blending in when a bunch of middle school kids get on the bus does not count).

Always standing out no matter where I stand is wearing on the soul.

On the 5th of every month, bloggers from around the world are open to write about rights and issues concerning women. First started by Shine and Marie, we’re hoping to bring a variety of women’s issues to the forefront to make people aware of what’s going on. For the month of July, we’ve chosen to write about Body Image. Please join us in telling us your stories, thoughts, and ideas on a monthly basis. To read previous installments, click here.

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[...] Snarke’s I eat plenty & no I don’t want to use my mother’s discount card [...]

Great post! Being one of the struggle-with-my-weight girls I can relate to some of what you wrote. However in college I had a skinny roommate and she struggled to gain weight to be healthy. After that, I realized I probably shouldn’t judge people so much based on looks. I think most women have something they don’t like on the outside, something we see as a flaw that others may not even notice. I hated fashion for a long time for screwing with my body image. But I’ve reached the point where I’m happy with myself as long as I’m making healthy decisions.

I also love the wolrld of nail polish fashion, because everyone has nails, and there’s really no way that can mess with my self-image.

I wish I could say I’m surprised so many people treat you like a kid. I try not to make assumptions because it makes an ass out of me, and I try to abide by Wheaton’s Law. So many people make assumptions and it leads to stories like the ones you shared here.

This was awesome, and eye-opening, and great. God, I know what it’s like to be short, and I’m a bigger girl, so going into the kids section isn’t an option, and I have to hem 8″ off my pant legs.

It really is amazing how it does go the other way. Skinny girls who “are part of the status quo” by societies standards are often, or many times even more, self-conscious and hating of their body as the status quo demands fat people to be — and vice versa, I know some REALLY hefty women who are SO PROUD of their bodies that when someone at the gym even insinuates that they’re there to lose weight, they glare at them and are like “Who says I’m here to lose weight? I’m here to build muscle and stamina, just like you, skinny.”

I wish we could live in a world where we can just be happy with ourselves, and not have to compare with one another, but I guess that’s how we’ve always been. And it makes me feel bad, cuz I’m one of those people who are like “Guh, you have NO RIGHT complaining of that skinny butt!” Although to be fair, I’ve had someone shout out their car door (car DOOR, open, while it’s moving) that I need to “Eat a salad, bitch.” -_- I’d trade you. I like kid meals. XD Okay, sorry.

Basically, in the end, it all comes down to what we feel is “ideal” branded by the fashion industry and our society, and what we know about our bodies, cuz seriously, even the supermodels will look at themselves and find many many faults. And it’s not our fault — our ideals are based off of photoshopped pictures and outdated standards (average woman shoe size in 1940′s – 6. Now? – 9. WOULD YOU GET THAT THROUGH YOUR BRAINS SHOE STORES?!?! XD)

Sorry, I’m just rambling. But…. I liked your post. I like that you were so honest and put us in our place. I have a hard time going places because I’m worried about being judged and ridiculed – I often forget that I do alot of that myself… we all do… it’s good to be reminded of that, and, you know, try our best not to be dicks.

[...] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Banana Cave, snarke. snarke said: @femmewrites dont know if you saw my last tweet, http://snarke.net/2010/07/05/i-eat-plenty-no-i-dont-want-to-use-my-mothers-discount-card/ [...]

I once had a salesman come to my door when I was living in California and ask me if my mother was home, and could he please speak to her. (I was 21, married, and about 5 months pregnant.) I asked him why he’d need to speak to my mother, when she was 1800 miles away. He apologized, of course, but that didn’t change how I felt about being mistaken for a child.

Up front, I’d like to thank you and applaud you for working through this post. This was brave, and I know it was difficult.

In the interest of sharing pain, I’ve been dealing with weight issues since puberty as well as issues of rock bottom self esteem. I’m overweight, and not just a little bit. I could lose 100 lbs and still be considered overweight. Beyond a factor of self image, I know it’s horribly unhealthy for me to be the size I am. However, I have horrible back pain issues. The last time I seriously tried working out on a regular basis, I wound up in pain that would bring me to tears on a nightly basis. While I strive to eat healthier, I like cheeseburgers and ice cream. Not together, mind you, ew. As you stated, while I’m totally ok with who I am on the inside, there’s still a lot of work to be done on coming to terms with my outward appearance. I know the first assumption would be this is something I could easily change, but really, if it really were that easy, would anyone be overweight? Luckily, my husband really likes bigger girls so he’s constantly telling me how wonderful and beautiful I am as I am. Bless his soul.

When I looked at your picture above, and gave it that close serious look, the thought that came to mind was “This is Erin”. It was acceptance of a face to go with a conversation. I have no urge to force feed you cookies. However, I have some double stuff oreos and if you want, I’m willing to share. I’m not a pusher, I’m an enabler.

When I look at other people, I try very hard not to displace my insecurities onto them. When I see a person who is more conventionally attractive than I, I don’t react so much with anger, but more with envy. Sure, I’d like to look different. Who wouldn’t? But even if my appearance were to somehow change, I’d still have issues. Who doesn’t? Nothing is perfect, and the grass is always greener.

In the end, we all just have to work as individuals towards having the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change what we can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Maybe in the process, society as a whole can come to an agreement to help build each other up, instead of tearing each other apart, but then half of the internet would just collapse in on itself, and then where would we be?

You have failed to mention what joy it will be when you and your husband conceive and people will look at you with the judgmental evil eye because you’re just another teenage pregnancy statistic. Won’t that be fun, boys and girls?

I remember being somewhere with my two-year-old son and his newborn sister and someone thinking that they were my baby siblings — and I was 27 at the time.

I have friends that get angry when I complain about needing to lose weight or being unsatisfied with my body because I am not morbidly obese.

And because I don’t stuff my gullet with everything in sight when I go somewhere, my family always urges me to eat! eat! is that all you’re eating?? I don’t have an eating disorder, but I am a vegetarian whose is heart-conscious and fat-conscious of my diet, so there isn’t always a huge selection and I know that I don’t have to eat an entire plateful to be “full.”

I am constantly being criticized about what and how I eat by my co-workers and family, and then I get to hear them complain about how they are fat. Well, maybe you should be poking less fun and taking more notes.

And yes, the clothes that fit my height don’t always fit my body size. And it is a pain and I hate shopping. I feel you.

This was a very brave post to write. I hope that people will start to see that if you are a woman living in the United States, you probably have body issues. It doesn’t matter what kind they are — we should all be allowed to express them. And maybe one day, body issues will be a thing of the past and we can all learn to accept what we’ve been given to work with and not made to feel like a freakshow because we don’t look like those airbrushed, siliconed, liposucked “role models” in the media.

Obviously, I meant “who is,” not whose.

I wish we could all be a bit more accepting, of ourselves and of each other. This post makes me more aware of how the comments I make to my smaller friends might make them feel, and I’ll definitely be watching what I say.

Marilyn: I’ve been where your roommate was, having to eat to gain weight to stay healthy. No fun. Your nail fashion comment reminds me of that line from “In Her Shoes” when she says “no matter how big the rest of you gets, your feet usually stay the same size”.

Melimsah: I have to buy kids’ shoes too, because I wear a size 5 and no adult shoe store (at least none of them here) stocks shoes that small. It sucks that someone would shout that out of a car at you. People can be such assholes!

Victoria: It kind of opens your eyes to how we talk to and treat kids, doesn’t it?

Vallie: If half the internet collapsed in on itself I like to think that would mean that the level of conversation would improve (I wouldn’t mind it so much if the anonymous haters suddenly got bored and moved on) I have no words of wisdom on working out–I suck at it too.

Natalie: in high school people used to tease me about having an eating disorder because I could never finish a whole plate of food. Today my FIL teases me about having a tapeworm because I don’t sit down and eat huge meals but I am constantly hungry and snack on things all day long. Oh! And the pregnancy thing! I have given myself permission to let that be the ONE time I am allowed to unload on someone and get in their face about being so judgmental. I am very much looking forward to it.

Meg: Wouldn’t it be nice if we could just like each other instead of comparing how we all measure up first? But then, like others have said, half the internet would implode

I’m totally guilty of making the skinny girl comments. The grass is always greener on the other side you know? The older I get the more I realize that everyone has issues. No matter how great you think someone has it, there’s always more about them that you don’t know.

I hate that I’m fat. I hate that I’m short. I hate that I was bullied and teased in high school. I hate that strangers still make fun of me.

Most of all I hate that I can’t seem to change myself.

Thank you for writing this.

As a larger girl, I can tell you that I truly do try to remember that we all have things we don’t like about our bodies. I also try to remember that I don’t live in anyone else’s body and can’t presume to know how anyone else feels.

Sometimes it gets away from me. I’d like to be able to not have to worry so much about every single thing I put in my mouth or whether I’ve worked out 37 hours this week or feel judged every time I eat a potato chip. And there are plenty of skinny people who are judgmental and rude and awful. But by the same token, there are plenty of people who aren’t skinny who unfairly judge those who have what they think they want.

I think the key is to find a way to be comfortable in your own skin. No matter what size or shape you are. But none of us is perfect. We all struggle with something.

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