Things I Wish I Could Tell My Father


My father visited this weekend and it was a generally nice visit.  I replaced some badly needed items and am happily sitting in a new pair of jeans as we speak.  Dad spent most of the weekend telling me that he was proud of me for varying my foods, for being an adult and making my own choices, and that I should be happy.

I got an email from my father this morning about my weight–essentially, he was telling me that I was fat.

Yes, Dad, I am a size 14 jean.  My little sister is maybe half that size.  Stop comparing me to her.

He used to shake his head at me disapprovingly when I was in high school and had gone up another pants size.  I was a size 18-20 in my later years of high school.  Freshman year, I dropped four pants-sizes and he’s still not happy–I’m still not as small as my little sister.  Newsflash:  Even when I would accidentally starve myself freshman year by working myself to the bone, I never had the chance of getting as small as her.  We simply have different bone structures that make it impossible.  No matter how hard I work out, or how little I eat, I remain around a size 14.  On good days, I may be less.  On bad days, I may be more.

I know he’s just looking out for me, but it hurts.  He has no idea how much it hurts.  My self-esteem is particularly fragile now and that email did not help.


2 Responses to “Things I Wish I Could Tell My Father”

  1. Oh, doll, how I empathize! My father was always so displeased with my weight when I was growing up, even though my sister wasn’t necessarily a small girl either. If you feel happy, comfortable in your body, and healthy, that’s all that matters.

  2. I appreciate the sentiments. Your last sentence has been my mantra for a while, but I’m finding it harder and harder to repeat it with all this rejection around me now.

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