(tw: weight loss)

My weight has fluctuated my entire life, but I’ve always been some degree of chubby. When I reached junior high, my only two friends (we were friends for years in elementary) flat out told me they didn’t want to be friends anymore because not only was I fat, but I only had the same two outfits to wear to school. They were embarrassed by me.

I was used to being bullied about my weight from all the other kids and my family, but being friendless sent me into a downward spiral. Now I was officially not good enough to have friends. I had convinced myself that if i was thin all of my problems would disappear. I was obsessed with losing weight, only in retrospect do I realize how warped it was for a 13 year old to be calorie counting.

Over that summer I had lost 40 pounds and grown a foot and I officially looked ‘normal’. Except I wasn’t happy, I was worse than I ever was. My depression made it hard to function in everyday life. I had dropped out of school and I was crying all the time (most of the time for no reason) and never left the house. The murder of an immediate family at age 10 severely affected how I acted with people outside of my family, but as I hit puberty it only got progressively worse. I was terrified of everyone and I didn’t understand why. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, I wasn’t fat anymore. I had so much other issues in my life that contributed to the depression, I don’t know why I thought thinness would make them all go away.

Finally my parents lost patience with my behavior and called social services. Social services suggested therapy, but I needed a referral from our family doctor before anyone would see me. My Dad came with me to the doctor’s office, and as the doctor came in, I’ll never forget the first thing the doctor said.

My Dad said “She’s not been doing to well lately, we think she might be depressed.”

The doctor gave me a once over and asked me “Are you sad because you’re fat?”

At the time I was 5'7" and jean size US 7. I didn’t know how to answer, I thought I wasn’t fat anymore, but if a doctor thinks I am, then I must be. He didn’t ask me what I was going on in my life or why I felt this way. I wish I hadn’t left the house. This only confirmed that my feelings didn’t matter in the face of my appearance. My Dad mentioned to the doctor he thought the loss of my family member was behind my feelings, but regardless I had left the doctor’s office that day with a referral to a dietitian.

A few days later my Dad and I went dietitian because doctors know best. After a brief consultation, the dietitian told me her diet plan isn’t designed to make me lose weight, but to maintain my current weight. I broken down in her office, and in tears pleaded with her how I had needed stop being fat. She didn’t know what to tell me, and my Dad took me home. I never saw a therapist. I never went back to my family doctor ever again, but I got to hear from my brother how the doctor asked if my older sister was still thin (she was under 100 pounds and struggled with bulimia) and if I was still fat. Good to know he cared enough to ask about me!

It took me a decade to learn out to live with myself and the people around me. I’m still learning.

Thin privilege is not growing up thinking your weight is the key to happiness. Thin privilege is having a doctor acknowledge you can have mental health concerns that don’t revolve entirely around your weight.