Please Don't Talk About My Body

Please don't comment on my body.

You'll probably forget what you said, within maybe even five minutes.  But your words stay with me, looping through my mind, for days or weeks afterward.  Your flippant remark sticks with me, burrowing into my brain and twisting its meaning until it becomes something else entirely, and I'm left stressed, depressed, and uncomfortable.  I know other people's words shouldn't affect me so strongly.  I know it is my body, 100% M-I-N-E, and the only opinion of it that should matter is my own.  But that doesn't stop your opinion from causing me grief, long after you've forgotten it.

It doesn't matter whether its a compliment, a worry, or simply a statement; the fact that you noticed something about my body enough to comment makes me uncomfortable.  I'm suddenly uber-aware of whichever body area you just mentioned, and I can't help but obsess over it.

"Must be nice to be so tiny, shopping must be so easy for you!"  "My god, do you even eat?"  "I'm so jealous, you don't even have to worry about your weight!"

Okay.  I get it.  I'm skinny.  I'm well aware of that fact, but really, thanks for bringing it up, again.  I'm also aware (whether you are or not) that I didn't always have this body, and I didn't get it from a healthy lifestyle.  I've been fighting off demons in the forms of an eating disorder since age twelve; this little body has nothing to do with being blessed with a fast metabolism.

For the most part, I have things under control.  I eat a healthy diet, and I maintain a healthy (if somewhat low) weight.  A lot of days, I could even say I like my body.  But every single time you say something about how tiny I am, it starts a stream of anxious, obsessive, unhealthy thoughts.

Have I lost weight again?  Am I too tiny?  Did these pants always fit like this??

On worse days, my thoughts after such a comment are equally toxic, in a different way.  Good.  If I'm skinny enough for her to notice and say something, I'm still small enough.  I have to keep it that way.

In day-to-day, normal, healthy life, these demons stay quiet, hidden in the back alleys of my mind.  But when you carelessly mention my weight, they rage and roar and repeat in my head and drive me crazy.

Even if I didn't have eating disorder issues to deal with, I think I'd be uncomfortable with people talking about my weight.  My body is mine to worry about, and yours is your own issue.  They really shouldn't cross over into each other's territory.  What's it matter to you what size my jeans are?  What it matter to anyone what size ANYONE's jeans are, besides their own?

There are SO MANY other things you could find to compliment, question, or even criticize me about.  Please, choose one of the infinite other options next time.