Thank you, Capt. Obvious

It's no big secret that I have issues with my weight. It's no big secret that I'm not a size 0. Or 2. or 4. Or 6, for that matter. I never have been. Even at my smallest, I have always been a bigger size and weighed more because of the way my body is built. I have no hope of being a frail tiny little girl. I'm built like a linebacker. I'm not delicate. I'm a log... with boobs. And for the most part, I have accepted that I am not ever going to be a runway model. I like that I have an athletic build. I just wish it was more toned... less flabby.

I'm blessed to be surrounded by friends who love me the way I am and who choose to be my friend even if I don't fit into a size 4. I love my friends because they struggle with similar issues or they're own body image issues and we can talk about big butts and big thighs. We can talk about the fact that I can't see my torso right above my stomach without looking into a mirror because my boobs are too big and I can't see past the shelf. I surround myself with these girls because they make me feel beautiful (when, in fact, I know that I am not... most days. It's amazing what I can do with make-up though).

So, even though I have these girls and I am not frail on the outside, I'm still frail on the inside. I'm trying to be stronger, and was doing fairly well, until this afternoon. And honestly, I thought I was ok, until my husband came in and looked at me. He knew that I wasn't going to be ok after what happened. He knew that those few seconds of a conversation had rocked my world and had broken every little piece of self respect and what little positive self image I had. He knows me so well... sometimes better than I know myself.

I'm sure it was an innocent comment. But it stung. It stung and burned right to my very core. It took every bit of pride that I had gained after losing my 7 pounds and buried it. And it makes me mad that someone's inconsiderate comment can do that to me.

This afternoon, we were revamping our life insurance. We were adjusting our coverage to better fit our needs. It was so simple. A click here. A check mark there. A question here. A question there. And it was those questions that got the ball rolling. The question posed to me was "How much do you weigh?".

Really?

I looked at him. He looked back. And I answered. "A lot." He laughed, and said that it won't accept "a lot". So I told him my weight (minus 2 pounds... I had to give him a nice round number).

He looked at me and said "Come on, that's not what you weigh. Are you serious?"

Um, yeah. If I was going to make up a number, don't you think it would be a more flattering number?????

He continued to look at me and said "You don't look that big".

Seriously? I don't look that big?

Oh, why thank you! Thank you for telling me that I don't look as fat as one would think of someone who tipped the scales at what I do. Thank you for not making me feel like a gigantic whale. Thank you for not making me feel as though I should be thankful that I don't break chairs when I sit in them. Thank you for not making me self conscious of what I'm making for dinner tonight. Can't put on any extra pounds, now.

I hate that this person said these things and doesn't know how much this hurt. I hate that a comment like that can make me feel like it does. I hate that I have to see this person every week. I hate that I'm not a number on the scale that is more realistic to expectations. I hate that I weigh what an average adult male would weigh. I hate that I'm not a size 4. And I hate the fact that I hate that I'm not a size 4.