"You always bring up inside jokes from like, weeks ago."

As a kid, I was always social and funny. I loved life, and I loved laughing about inside jokes with my friends. 

One day in 7th grade, my two best friends sat me down to stage an intervention.

One of them said, "We've been discussing this, and we need to confront you."
I had no idea what was going on.

The other friend said, "You always bring up inside jokes from like, weeks ago. And they're old. You can't do that."

I was shocked and hurt. But I didn't feel like my friends were being ridiculous for banning me from bringing up funny stories from weeks ago. I was twelve and impressionable. So I believed that my tendency to laugh about "old" jokes was "wrong."

I became very conscious and careful about the expiration dates of my jokes. 

Even now as an adult, when I hear people reminisce about stories and experience from weeks, months, even years ago, I think to myself, "Wait, I thought that that wasn't allowed."

"Well that was...powerful."

I've always loved to sing. Music has always been my greatest passion. It all started when I was 4, singing in pageants and at family get-togethers. 

So naturally when I got to high school, I joined the chorus. I was so excited to learn and to have a whole period dedicated to music! I worked so hard and listened to everything my teacher said. I looked up to her. 

Then one day we were singing a piece that included a solo. I practiced my audition for weeks, and when the day came I stood up in front of the whole class and sang my heart out. I was so proud when I was I done, and I thought I had done so well. 

Then my teacher looked at me and said, "Well that was...powerful." in a judgmental tone that sounded like, "Well you should be embarrassed."

After that I never tried for a solo again.

Looking back, I see now that as much as looked up to that teacher, she wasn't a very nice person. She played favorites and gave her favorite students all the solos and extra attention.

I still practice at home, and my dream will always be to sing professionally, but I can't sing in front of anyone anymore. Even my husband, who is so supportive. And my daughter, who has the same passion for music that I had. I get told all the time that I have a beautiful voice and that I should be famous and I always smile politely and take the compliment. 

But in the back of my mind I will never feel good enough to do anything with my talents because of what one person, who was supposed to be a mentor to me, said.
 

Thunder Thighs

When I was in middle school, a group of boys used to come by my locker and call me Thunder Thighs. This gave me such a complex that I started dieting so hard, and I eventually began to starve myself.

My parents were so busy that they didn't even notice, until one day a neighbor said to them, "She sure looks good now that she's lost all that weight!"

My stepmom actually looked at me and said, "Oh, I never noticed till now." 

I realize now that my extreme weight loss was a call for help. But no one asked me why or how I had lost so much weight. They all just thought I looked good. 

Now, many years later later, I'm Facebook friends with one of the guys who used to make fun of me. I wonder if he remembers what he used to call me. I've never brought it up to him. 

I found out recently that he has cancer, and I do feel bad for him. But his words still haunt me. 
 

"Bigger, larger, hairier and uncut."

One day in middle school, I was talking to a goofy guy I kind of liked and another guy who was always sort of mean to everyone. When class was over I said, "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow." My crush replied, "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow," and then stage whispered to the other guy, "...undressed."

I assume he was trying to be flirty and cute, but before I could really react to his comment, his friend scanned my body from head to toe with his eyes, scoffed, and said, "Yeah. Bigger, larger, hairier and uncut." (A timely reference to the South Park Movie.)

Now, I DO admit that the joke was solid, but those words basically fueled a life-long insecurity when it comes to men finding me attractive. 

I am 30 years old, and getting married in April. Those were the first words that came into my head when I tried on my wedding dress.
 

"Why can't you be more like her?"

Growing up with a twin sister, I struggled with my identity. My sister was everything I was not, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never measure up to her. 

People constantly compared the two of us. She was always known as the "better" twin. I can recall multiple conversations where my mother would ask me, "Why can't you be more like her?" She would explain to me why others liked my sister more than they liked me, and that if i just tried to be more like her, they would like me too. 

One day I was sitting around a table with my sister and some friends at a church event. Our leader asked us a question, "Who do you think is the best person in here?"

Everyone voted, and my sister won. I went home and cried for hours. Why couldn't I be good enough? Why did everyone see me as less than her? 

That day I decided it was pointless to keep trying, and that I would simply never be good enough. I felt so alone living in her shadow, just hoping one day that I could shine. 

To this day, I still get asked the question "Why can't you be more like her?" 

Comparison is a terrible thing, and that is something I will always have to live with.
 

"You finally know how it feels."

I'm the youngest of five kids, and by far the heaviest. I've always been the fat kid. And my older sister always made fun of me for it.

A few years ago during Christmas when I was 17, my sister had put on a bit of weight and my dad jokingly pointed it out. 

I later walked in on my sister crying about it in the kitchen as she poured herself a drink. I remember thinking, "You finally know how it feels."

I still feel bad for thinking that.

"You're shaking the ground!"

I was in sixth grade, and very chubby for my age. 

We were lining up to go somewhere, and a girl behind me said, "God, you're shaking the ground!" 

Now whenever I walk, I always fear that I'm actually shaking the ground.

"I'll give you the f*cking gun."

When I was 11 and my sister was 15, my sister and I were having yet another argument with our mom about us being so overweight. 

According to my mom, we, "Would never find love," and, "How could anyone love us when we are just a couple of fat asses?" The usual arguments. 

(Note: I was only about 40 pounds overweight, my sister about 75. We weren't gigantic, but overweight.)

I was crying of course, so my sister spoke up mid-argument and said, "This is why so many kids our age are killing themselves!" 

I'll forever remember the tone in my mom's voice and the look in her eyes when she looked at us and said, "I'll give you the f*cking gun." 

I still think about it every single day.

"Too fat for the slide."

Growing up, I was always a little on the curvy side. I developed very early, and by age 8, wearing a bra was not even a question. 

One day while walking to the local park with my neighbor and her granddaughter, the granddaughter turned to me and said, "I don't know how you're going to play at the park. You're probably going to break the slide going down, because you're too fat." 

I felt the tears begin to swell up in my eyes. I turned to go home, but I was too far to walk on my own. My neighbor saw me begin to tear up, and all she said in response was, "Well, are we going to cry or walk to the park?" 

Even as a child, I knew that the way they were treating me was wrong. I trudged on to the park, but didn't get on any of the equipment. 

Ever since this experience, I always feel like everything I sit on is going to either break, crack, or fall apart.

"You should try to look more like her."

Freshman year of college, my extended family came over to our house for the Passover Seder. I had definitely gained the Freshman 15, but I didn't really feel bad about it or give it much thought. 

I was standing and talking to my younger cousin, who is rail thin. My great aunt came over to us, tried to pinch my cousin's stomach but couldn't, then turned to me and said, "Oh, sweetie, doesn't your cousin look great? You should try to look more like her."

I immediately excused myself to go into another room, and completely broke down and cried. My cousin, who is one of my best friends to this day, came in to find me. She told me how awful that experience had been, and assured me that our aunt was insane. 

I still think about that moment often. At every family gathering I become extremely self-conscious, just waiting for the criticism to come.