Family: The good, the bad, and the ugly.

I have a family. I am actually part of three different ones. There is the one that I came from – my parents and siblings. The one I married into – my husband’s kinfolk. And the one that I have made with Jason – us and our babies.  Before I write this, I want to preface it - because I do love a good preface:

I know that, through good sense or terrible misfortune, not everyone has a group of people to call family. I know that I am lucky to no end to be a part of 3 different ones. I know the following post is one that comes from a place of privilege. All the same, my experience with family has spanned really good, kinda bad, and stupid ugly.

Second preface - I’m also not gonna define family for you. Some folks consider their best friend from college to be a sister and the old man next door to be like a grandpa. Who am I to say they aren’t? It’s your call who your family is. Some families are unicorns on chocolate clouds. Some are gum on the bottom of a shoe. Traditional or not, most of us have a combination of both and everything in between.

My preface is complete.

So what does family have to do with me being fat? Or vice versa? What is the correlation between family, body positivity, self-exploration, and learning to love myself?

UHM – JUST EVERYTHING.

Here’s the thing. Family plays a huge role in how we learn to perceive ourselves. When society treats you like shit for being different in any way, it’s family that either helps you form resilience in the way you feel about yourself, or they can reaffirm the messages you are getting from everywhere else. Basically, it’s your family that can pick you up or kick you when you are down.

See? Family has EVERYTHING to do with body positivity.

Let’s discuss my body-image trauma’s, shall we?

As a child, I was chubby, but not obese. I played outside all the time, was a gymnast, and on the jump rope team at school. But Kool-Aid with extra sugar was the drink of choice in our house, and Friday pizza was a ritual, so math and genetics laid rightful claim to the space where there was never to be a thigh gap.

2nd Grade Business Casual

My weight created hard situations, but I persevered, because that’s who I am. I made good grades. I had friends. Despite being made very well aware of my weight, I never let it stop me from getting out there or achieving my goals. However, I did endure my fair share of bullying. From the humiliation of having my weight announced aloud in front of my gym class in the 6^th grade (was privacy not a thing in the 90’s?), to having a swim coach ask me, “my god what are you eating to be so big?”, I learned very early and hard that being fat – even thought I was an awesome kid - was unacceptable.

Side bar: Who remembers the public humiliation of the “Presidential Fitness Test?” AKA – let’s see who has and hasn’t hit puberty yet based on how uncomfortable they are while they run a timed mile in an uncomfortable bra with new boobs... That stuff was traumatizing

Anyhow, when I was dubbed with the lovely nickname of “Gravy” by a classmate named Don Brown who had a rat tail that went all the way down his back, I discovered my short temper. I landed myself in the hot seat after I busted his nose with a dodgeball on purpose while screaming at him that he was, in fact, an “asshole.” I SWEAR I WAS A GOOD KID. I simply reached my limit with being tormented. When I got home though, I was not comforted and or told, “good job for defending yourself” or “you are a great kid and you can always come to me.” Nope. Despite my otherwise glowing track record for behavior, grades, etc., I was severely reprimanded for getting into trouble at all. To my tearful protestations, I can still hear, clear as day, my mother saying, “if you don’t want them to tease you, Missy, then lose weight.”

And that is when I learned the sad truth; being fat precludes you from being understood or being extended grace or mercy. Even occasionally from those who love, or are supposed to love you.

There are lots of mean and nasty soundbites that run through my head in my mother’s voice. She’s not a bad woman; I turned out pretty great. But I am not sure, nor will I ever be sure, about how much of my character is a result of the parenting I received and how much of my character is in spite of the parenting I received. It just took me several years of being loved unconditionally by husband for me to learn what being loved felt like. Then I realized I needed to love myself as much as he does, so here we are... Only then did I realize the role the family I grew up with played in my development of anxiety, people pleasing, and an eating disorder.

My mom and I on my wedding day. I don't hate her... just some of the things she says.

Oh, yes... my eating disorder. Let me introduce you, readers, to one of the big skeletons in my closet... Meet my restrictive eating pattern, better known as anorexia. “But she’s fat! She can’t have an eating disorder!” I can. And I do. Eating disorders sufferers are not always severely underweight. Educate yourselves, please. An eating disorder is a coping mechanism which people use to deal with various trauma and emotions. In times of stress, sadness, anger, or frustration, my brain likes to tell me that everyone in my life would be happier, healthier, and better off if I stop eating. So I stop eating until my brain shuts off for a bit. Why? Well, because I have been told my entire life that any problem I have would go away if I wasn’t fat. “Healthy mindset Melissa” knows these things are silly and untrue, but 16 year old Melissa who felt rejected, misunderstood, different, and alone, found solace and comfort in the hollow grumblings of a deprived stomach. Hell, 32 year old Melissa still finds satisfaction in not eating when other people are... It will be a battle I fight my entire life.

Moving on. Don’t feel bad for me. There are a lot of people who had much worse childhoods. Honestly, a little emotional abuse can’t keep me down. My life still turned out pretty damn great.

The great part of family is where Jason and my siblings comes in. My husband is the cream of the crop. He has loved every inch of my mind, body, and soul through marriage, grad school, babies, career obstacles, faith changes, and family challenges. He has rescued me from dark places, and I have gotten to return the favor. We’re a team in all we do. My siblings are the people that I laugh hardest and talk longest with. We know what our lives were really like, and we are proud of what each other has accomplished. We don't even pull each others hair anymore...

Me and Jason before kids

My siblings and I around '88

This is the part of the post where I tell any fat people that finding love, real unconditional love, doesn’t require you to change one bit. You can be loved the way you are. And, you deserve to be loved the way you are. Sometimes you find that love in family, friends, or a romantic partner. The first time I can remember being loved honestly and openly was with Jason. To be open to the idea that I was deserving of more than what I had been told I was was difficult for me. I was failing miserably at loving myself; I still treated myself horribly, but I was trying to be open. And then he was there. 

And so was his family.

Deep breath.

My husband comes from a long line of good people. But the truth is, his immediate family hasn’t always, and still may not, like me. My weight, and the weights of random strangers, other family members, acquaintances, and even their own weights, are often topics of conversation. There is no question that my husband’s immediate family believes thin = better and it disappointed them when he chose me to be his bride.

We’ve been married 8.5 years and have 3 children, but I still feel like an outsider, walking on eggshells, when my husband’s immediate family is together, because I believe happy = better. Historically, I have been accused of controlling him, driving a wedge between him and his family, derailing and ruining his life, tricking him into children, and of course, being lazy and fat. And I am still not sure what I did that set the chain in motion... I am not sure I ever will. But the damage is something that we are cautiously repairing with time, controlled exposure, and boundaries.

These interactions with his family hurt. Bad. And relapsed a two year battle with my eating disorder that had been put to bed for a solid four years. Here I had people who had known Jason a lot longer than me evaluating what we had and deciding that the unconditional love he brought to me was unwarranted and undeserved simply because they saw *fat* before they saw *me*. It was a sad time in our marriage; the only sad time really. I would often tell him how he deserved so much better, and that he and the kids should leave me and find someone beautiful and thin; someone his family could love. I pushed him away and shut him out. I let the emptiness of my stomach convince me that he could never have loved me anyways. That I was a terrible person now that he was stuck with me because I had his children. Basically, those long term tummy grumblings wanted me to believe I didn’t deserve how hard he loved me.

What was most hurtful was knowing there were regular conversations happening about me regarding my weight, with no regard for my emotional state. I had delivered two healthy, happy kids, finished grad school, and worked full time for most of that. It took nearly 1.5 years of limited/no contact and therapy for me to recover from knowing my husband’s brother and father carried on conversations about our life, my body, and my character. It broke my heart and I am not sure I will ever be comfortable enough with these people I am supposed to call family to let my guard down.

But, I persevered through a mom who wasn’t emotionally keyed into motherhood. I persevered through Don Brown in calling me ‘Gravy.’ And I will persevere through in-laws and all that entails. The thing is, I might get down for the count, but I’m never out. I might be fat, but I don’t quit.

So, let’s talk about the really good parts of family. Can we? Because these good parts have more than made up for so many of the not so good ones! I have three siblings that are incredible people. We hated each other in childhood, but we have formed adult friendships that are deep and strong. I have friends that I consider sisters; that have cried with me over dark times, laughed with in the good times, and grown with in the hard times. Also, I have Jason. Have I mentioned that he is the love of my life?!?!? Yes?

The good stuff.

My siblings around '07

But, for me, the best part of family, is being a mother.  Hence, The Fat Mom. This is where the words are hard to find because it is a feeling I genuinely cannot describe. I know not everyone can/will/wants to be a mom, and that is cool. It’s just my favorite of all the hats I get to wear. I get to help three people know they are valuable just as they are. I get to tell them that their bodies, and the bodies of others, are simply houses for hearts that feel and love, and need goodness and love in return. I get to show them that other people don’t get to have a say in the way they feel about themselves; that they can do anything, and that they don’t have to be the best at everything. I get to be the one that tells them that the bullies are wrong; that they are beautiful, capable, and kind.

After years of poor family relationships having such a negative impact on my body image, I am excited that I get to change the world through these little people.

Family is hard sometimes. The thing that makes it family is that you can’t get rid of them. I have been hurt, yes. And some of you reading may think that these people I am related to are horrible; they aren’t. Insufferable, maybe, but not bad. And I have a choice to either cut them out and preserve my

self, or I can keep fighting to change the perception of what it means to be fat. So, I’ll keep fighting and teaching and loving... it’s all I can do. Until the world is changed, I'll be here, smiling and laughing my happy days with the people who aren't afraid to love all of me.