Over the last 15 years, I’ve replayed the incident many times in my head. It’s one of those moments where every little detail became seared into my memory—walking my greyhound on the sidewalk in my favorite gray fleece quart-zip sweatshirt. Lucky me, I get to relive it forever.
“I finally got the abs I’ve always wanted and look at you with all that belly fat.”
Hard to believe someone, especially a friend, would say that. Even now, I’m amazed by its cruelty and how a single sentence had such a profound impact. Suddenly I cared very much about the size of my stomach and put all of my self-worth into a body part.
My mom believes she knows what day my friend uttered those words because I didn’t want dessert that evening. This decision was so out of the ordinary mom took note of it. That night was the night I began restricting my diet and analyzing everything I ate and drank to see how it would affect my stomach.
Sometimes I wish I could go back to that moment and stand up for myself, but it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. Those words were still said, and words like that are not easily forgotten.
While I don’t believe the comment directly caused my eating disorder, it played a major role as I became hyperfocused on my stomach. I was born with a genetic predisposition for an eating disorder; in my view, anorexia was inevitable. Those hurtful words were the final straw — the last piece needed for my eating disorder to develop.
I was a self-conscious 15-year-old when my friend commented on my stomach. No longer a child and not quite a young woman, it was that awkward age where I was trying to figure out who I was, and I had no idea.
I began to pay attention to my body when I was eight when one of my friends was always concerned about her own. Can you imagine? Eight years-old and already the self-doubt is setting in. So much so, I wore a t-shirt in the pool once because of the influence of that friend. Later, I switched to swim shorts with my bathing suit; at least it was appropriate swim attire, and I felt more comfortable. Those feelings subsided for a few years, but then those glorious teen years came. It got worse when my friends at the time started caring about fashion and reading teen magazines; all those advertisements and articles were targeting us, telling us we have to act and look a certain way. I didn’t match any of those descriptions, and I didn’t feel like I fit in.
Occasionally my friends would make remarks about my style or interests, which made me question my appearance and suddenly my self-worth. What’s wrong with wearing athletic clothing and sneakers? Clearly, I was ahead of the fashion curve in 2004. Or that I preferred to be outside on a beautiful, sunny D.C. day instead of shopping? I don’t remember everything they said to me, but I remember how they made me feel, and it wasn’t good. I was different from my friends, and their constant chiding forced a wedge between us, and we grew apart. I wish I had had more confidence during my teenage years to see that it’s okay to be a little different; to not feel like I was an oddball just because I had other interests.
It took me a few years into recovery to finally forgive that friend. I was angry and resentful I was the one who had to deal with anorexia and depression and the countless therapy and nutritionist appointments. That I continuously suffered, and to a certain extent, still do, because of another’s nasty words. Today, the comment serves as a reminder to choose words wisely. Words hold more power than one might realize; they have to ability to tear a person apart or inspire them.
Now, all these years later, I truly wish my old friend happiness and success in life. There’s no point in holding onto anger; there are more important things to spend energy on. I’ve moved on and am more confident in myself, in spite of what I’ve been through. I’m happy, healthy, enjoying life, and looking forward to the future.
