I have looked at my body for 25 years now in a not so good light. Ever since I can remember I thought of myself as fat. It didn't help growing up in a family where my sisters were thin as rails. My nickname was moose, an endearing term my father gave me but internalized as "the fat one". Who knew what a simple endearing term could do to a kid.
I compared myself at 11 years old when I was wearing an 11/12 to my sister who was a small size 8. I would not be happy until I could fit in her blue jeans. I remember laying on the bed and using a coat hanger to force the zipper up. I had done this a dozen times, a trick taught to me by a chubby friend. My sister in all her sisterly wisdom, telling me what a bad idea it was. I struggled and pulled and then a pain shot through my abdomin at the same time that the zipper came roaring up the track. For a moment I was excited until I stood up and felt like a million needles had been stuck into my pudgy belly. I ran to the mirror, well more like a walk with stiff legs, catching the site of skin zipped into metal. I fell on the ground at the sight, it was the first time I remember saying "big girl down".
I begged my sister it help me so my mother wouldn't know. She just shook her head in disbelief. She tried as i bit my lip hoping the pain would disburse itself evenly through my body. After struggling for what seemed like hours my mother was finally brought in. Listening to her go on and on about my bad choice and lots of yanking the skin became free of the metal hold. I now know what it feels like to be a human zipper. I also now know to wear the correct size of blue jeans no matter how humiliating. This started my journey in the elusive "right size" of life.
~ Big Girl Down
