When I was in 3rd grade, I walked in on my mom purging, and she told me, "I have a stomach ache, and I have to get everything out to feel better."
From that moment on, I started purging whenever I had a stomach ache. For years.
It took me until I was 25 and finally on the proper medication to realize that I've had an eating disorder my whole life, and it all started when my mother told me a story instead of telling me the truth about her problem.
My father's best friend once said this about me, to my father:
"She's so beautiful and has such a pretty face. It's a shame she can't lose weight."
I know this because my father then told me.
A few years later, after I'd lost some weight, I ran into my father's best friend and he said, "See, I knew how beautiful you were."
This made me feel terrible, because I felt like I'd only ever be good enough thin.
This was 20 years ago. To this day, I still feel the same way. No matter how beautiful a person I am or how good my heart is or even how pretty my face is, if my body isn't thin, I'm not good enough.
When I was about eleven, my mother took me to visit her parents. They were emotionally and verbally abusive when she was growing up, and she still constantly seeks their approval. She wanted to show off her golden child so that her parents would have an opportunity to find something good in her.
We ended up in a discussion where my grandfather told me, "It's impossible for you to make good decisions because your brain isn't fully developed. You'll be making bad decisions until your mid-twenties." He added that I would probably be pregnant a few times and that I would borrow (and owe) him money between then and brain maturity time.
He was wrong, but I still remember him saying that.
One day on my way to school when I was eight years old, I was cornered by a very large 6th grader and his friends. He pushed me up against a brick wall, lifted my shirt, and squeezed my chubby stomach and little fleshy "man boobs."
He said, "You're so fat. You're f*ckin' disgusting."
As my shirt dropped and the tears started, he wiped his hands on the front of my shirt.
What stuck with me wasn't necessarily what he said; it was the look he gave when he wiped his hands on my shirt, and the laughs of his friends.
The absolute humiliation I felt and the sudden awareness that I was "fat and disgusting" is something that has haunted my up until this day. I became a closet, compulsive eater and had bulimic tendencies. I topped out in 2007 at over 520 pounds.
And even to this day, after a 300+ pound weight loss, I still hear his voice and see his face. Even though I have some recovery under my belt now, I still can't talk to people because I still think I'm disgusting, and don't want to burden them.
When I was in first grade, there was a girl who liked to tease me in a rather simple but hurtful way. I was a very talkative child, but every time I said something, she said to me, "Nobody cares."
Eventually I stopped being talkative and became a quiet child. Now I am a quiet 20 year old struggling to talk to people, with barely any friends.
To top this all, my parents say I'm a very boring person. They don't believe in mental illnesses or disorders that I could have, so they just tell me to get over myself.
I just honestly think that nobody cares.
I've been addicted to coffee since I was 15, and I drink it all the time. One time when I was out with my father, I put sugar in my coffee, and he looked at me and said, "All that sugar is making you fat."
He has made several offhanded comments about my weight in the past (although the doctor says I'm healthy for someone my height and age), but this is the comment that stuck with me.
I completely stopped drinking coffee for a while. Now I drink it straight up black because I have a fear of gaining weight.
When I was in first or second grade, an older kid had one of those sumo wrestler costumes that blows up and becomes gigantic. I said that dressing up in one of them would be really fun. This kid turned to me and said, "You don't need that costume because you're fat enough already," and proceeded to call me Sumo for weeks.
Years later, I'm definitely not as big as I used to be, but I'm still the biggest of all my friends. No matter how much people tell me "You look good!" or "You lost weight," I'll never ever be confident in my body. And every time I think about my weight, I always think about this moment.
I had a problem with self harm a few years ago. When I finally decided to reveal it to my mom (because I was sick of hiding), one of the things she said about it really bothered me.
"It's not cool. It's scary."
I just can't figure out where she got the idea that I was doing this to myself because I thought it was cool. Her reaction made me feel like she was dismissing the problem by ignoring the underlying issues and simplifying it to some weird hobby or something.
Ever since I can remember, I had difficulties in school, and I was always really socially awkward. Starting in second grade, I was severely teased for being different.
My second grade teacher was so supportive and kind, and he advocated that I get tested to find out why I was different from everyone else. But after I was tested, my mother, who I refer to as "Birthgiver" made sure I never found out the results.
I used to come home in tears, begging to know why I was so different, and she would say things like, "What did you do to them first to make them tease you?" "You're lazy and don't apply yourself." "The only way I can get through to you is by hitting you." "You need to stop being such a baby."
By high school, I finally just stopped asking why I was different. Stopped telling her in detail about how cruel kids were to me. I just started saying "I'm fine," and, "School was fine."
I started dating someone at age 19, got married and divorced, and didn't speak to my birthgiver for eight years.
When I finally reached out to her, I hoped that she had realized her faults in our relationship. Instead of taking accountability for what she did, she just said. "Oh, yeah, I guess I did screw up minorly by not telling you that you have autism."
That has always stuck with me. If I had known I had autism sooner, and she had gotten me some additional help from outside school, maybe I wouldn't have struggled for so long.
As a kid I was always taller and more shapely than everyone else my age. In 7th grade when all of my little petite friends were getting "boyfriends," one of my friends asked my crush if he liked me.
His response was, "Oh, she's pretty, but she's just way too big for me to be with. If she were smaller, then sure."
I have never forgotten that. And now, ten years later, I still have anxiety every time I look into the mirror.
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.
