When I was seven years old, my grandmother told me, "You have such thick thighs."
Looking back now I realize that I had muscular thighs, not "thick" thighs.
If she had said "muscular," maybe I wouldn't have spent the next eight years battling anorexia, and the rest of my life recovering.
I was never the one to have loads of friends. My group was small, and to everyone else I was just a nobody. Getting likes on social media was always a big deal to me, but I'd only ever get the occasional few on a new Facebook picture.
One day I posted a new photo and was surprised to see it hit 40 likes, which made me feel super good about myself.
Then one day a new friend added me on Facebook, and after seeing the picture said, "You're such a poser. The photo looks nothing like you." My heart sank inside. In an instant, my self esteem shot down.
I know that social media shouldn't mean so much, but it does. The internet is such a big part of our lives now.
When I was about 11, my friend and I were playing outside on a hot Florida summer day. After a while, we decided to go to her house to cool off in the air conditioning for a bit.
I had let her borrow a pair of my shorts that day, and when we came inside, her dad threw a fit about how short they were. He proceeded to sing, "Come and get it, I'm giving it away!" in a jaunty tune at her until she changed.
To this day, 16 years later, I can still hear his ugly/jolly voice singing that song every time I put on a pair of shorts.
Growing up, I was picked on constantly, but most of the kids who bullied me eventually stopped by middle/high school. Except for one girl in particular. She was the band director's stepdaughter, basically making it impossible for me to do anything about it.
I'll never forget the day when we got our pictures taken in our marching band uniforms. I had just gotten my hair cut and highlighted the day before, and thought I looked really pretty.
She walked up to me and said, "Oh, your hair doesn't look THAT bad today."
I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.
My art teacher was the one teacher who helped me with my mental illness. He never pointed out when I lost or gained weight, or when it was obvious that I was hiding the new wounds on my arms and legs. He made sure I ate lunch in his classroom every day because he knew I had an eating disorder. Most days I just ate an apple, but seeing someone put forth so much effort into my well-being helped me more than he will ever know.
I came back to visit him after I graduated, and he told me, "When you first started coming to class your freshman year, I thought we were going to lose you before you graduated."
Then he smiled and said, "But you made it. And you did it on your own. You're strong, and you should never forget that. I'm proud of you."
When I was 12, I went to visit my grandparents' foster daughter for a couple of weeks. She had a kid who was my age, so we played and swam all day. I admit I was a pudgy kid, and looking back, I probably used food as an emotional support.
A few days before we went home, I wandered through their house, looking for swimmer's ear drops. I saw the mom (my grandparents' foster daughter) watching TV with a bowl of popcorn on her lap, and as I passed by I absently asked for a handful.
She exploded at me, and said, "Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you ever do anything but eat? It's disgusting to watch!"
I was 12.
She had known me for less than 2 weeks.
I will never speak to her again.
I remember so clearly the day my brother went with me to the bus stop, five years ago. He had been upset that morning, and he took it out on me. We got into a fist fight, and when I finally hit back, he lost it.
He told me to put a plastic bag on my head and go play in the street. He said, "No one would care if you died. They'd be better off without you."
The events of that one morning led to my years of depression and anxiety. And finally my suicide attempt.
To this day, when I get sad, I remember what he said. That everyone is better off without me.
I started taking singing lessons senior year of high school, and I loved it. At my very last lesson, before leaving for college, I sang my heart out on a song we'd been working on for a while. My teacher was really impressed, which made me so happy, but then she said, "Whoa, why didn't you sing like that the whole time? I had no idea you were good!"
This made me so sad, and her comment has stuck with me. If she thought I was bad this whole time, why did she just passively keep it to herself? Why didn't she try to actually help me improve?
And I hated that she made her comment in a tone that implied that we were both surprised that I was actually good, and that the general understanding was that my default was "bad."
Growing up, my mom and I would argue about my weight all the time. She would tell me things like, "No one could ever love a fat ass like you," or, "You'll end up alone if you don't lose weight."
When I was a freshman, a senior guy who I met in band developed a crush on me. My mom was so excited, and I'm pretty sure that she was the one who fell in love with him.
She was pretty insistent that I give him a chance, even though I wasn't very comfortable with the idea because he creeped me out. She said, "He's the only man that's ever going to be interested in you. It's either him, or being alone forever." I didn't want to be alone, so I settled. We started dating. I graduated three years later, and we got married that summer.
We were married for three years, and my depression got worse every single day. He was unsupportive and expected me to do everything, even though I often worked longer hours than he did. He decided that smoking weed and passing out on the couch was more important than pulling his weight. I never enjoyed sex, and I faked orgasms for six years.
I finally got up the courage to ask for a divorce. He did not take it very well. He blamed all of our issues on me. When I told my mom about the divorce, she went insane. She told me that I would die alone if I went through with it.
Fast forward to now: I've started dating the most amazing man who appreciates everything I do for him, but never expects it. I'm actually happy for once in my life. I've been happy for nearly a year now.
Now I'm proving my mother wrong, every single day.
In fourth grade, I attended Carnival Day at school. I tried to dunk one of the teachers in the dunk tank, but I couldn't quite hit the target. When my turn was over, I walked away, and a man came up to me and introduced himself as a local little league coach. He asked me, "Do you know you have a heck of an arm there? Do you play for any team?" I told him no, and he strongly encouraged me to come to tryouts. I told my mom when I got home, but nothing ever came of it.
Looking back, I'm sure I would have loved playing ball, but it was that compliment that stuck with me. My home was a very angry place to grow up. I never got compliments or encouragement really of any kind. We were either invisible, or in trouble and getting screamed at. I vividly remember just about every compliment I ever received as a child because of the feeling of empowerment it gave me. Those compliments became my identity.
You never know what a person has to deal with in their life. Just be nice, always. Your kind words might be what sticks with someone else.
Has anyone ever made a fleeting comment about you that immediately became tattooed onto the front of your brain for all of eternity, impacting your self-perception and self-worth? Whether it was an offhand comment made by someone you love and respect or a fleeting declaration by someone you barely know, we share the moments that stick.
