It’s odd for me, because I’m kind of in-between – most people think I’m tiny on first glance, because I’m 5 feet tall and not dramatically overweight. “You’re so little! How are you a size 12? I didn’t think they made size 32 bras in F!” (and they rarely do, but that’s a different rant.) Hey, I’m not small, I’m just short.

* I did thank him, though.

It’s terrible that we have to exist every day in a culture where one of the most shocking, radical and hostility-provoking statements you can make is, “I’m happy with my body the way it is.”

Remember when I asked people to come up with five things they liked unreservedly about themselves, and how difficult that was, even with the compliments not limited to physical ones?

In a lot of cases, we can probably tell whether the individual in question is actually asking honestly or is just fishing for compliments. Asking honestly: answer honestly. Fishing? Depending on how mean I’m feeling, I’ll give some polite answer or ask point-blank out: are you fishing for compliments and if so, what would you like to hear?

Because while they could assure each other that they weren’t fat, and I could assure them that they were not fat, I could receive no such assurance.

And they knew that. And they knew I knew that.

Word, Zuzu.

It’s terrible that we have to exist every day in a culture where one of the most shocking, radical and hostility-provoking statements you can make is, “I’m happy with my body the way it is.”

Aggie – it really is incredible. Whenever I read the stats about how many people say they hate their bodies, I am horrified, even though I’d count myself as one of them. Just try saying “I hate my mind” or “I hate my personality” to yourself – it sounds ridiculous, and rightly so. And yet, like so many people, I regularly think to myself “I hate my body” without even recognising that it’s at all weird to think like this about a fundamental part of myself.

I stopped after once trying on a pair of jeans that didn’t quite fit me any more ad asking him, “Do these make me look fat,” and him sort of parroting “No, honey,” when it was obvious they were quite unflattering. I told him, you know, I’m actually asking “How does this look,” and it’s okay if he tells me it looks horrible, I’m not going to cry about it. So he said that I should just say “Does this look funny,” instead of such a cliche girlfriend loaded question like that.

It was kind of a breakthrough moment in our relationship. although I was lighter at the time I was still decidedly plus-sized, and had obviously internalized the fat = bad idea that I was saying “fat” and meaning “ugly” without really realizing it. (Also, I think men are kind of programmed to think of women as delicate flowers who need constant compliments and can’t take criticism. One time I had goop in my teeth all day and he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to hurt my feelings…come on, if I have goop in my teeth you can tell me!)

Now that we’ve been together so long I not only ask him if something looks okay, but it if smells funny or if he thinks the stain can be scraped off with a pot scrubbie or if I should just cave and do laundry.

Also I tweeze my lip hairs in front of him, but that’s probably TMI.

But I just have to look at my younger sister to see how much of a role confidence plays in how people see you when you are overweight. She has always fallen into that category, but many men would describe her as beautiful, and she knows it. It gives her the confidence to not worry about the number. It’s a topic she and I have discussed quite frankly many times.

For those who might be wondering, when we were younger and single, she was hit on by guys MUCH more than I was.

I’m still getting used to my new size. It is definitely an adjustment, especially when people ask me if I’m going to lose the weight. I just tell them I don’t even own a scale. And of course there are the outfits I’d love to fit into again. But if it doesn’t happen, it doesn’t happen.

And no, I’ve never asked anyone if I look fat. I’ve never been good at the usual girl talk.

Up until recently, I’ve been extremely thin most of my life–due to a combination of an eating disorder and a rocket-fast metabolism–but when I hit my mid 30’s it all caught with me I put on about 30-35 pounds, and my body shape changed from straight and lanky to curvy and full. Even though I’m on the (high end) of my normal weight range, and actually feel much stronger and healthier, I railed against this change with exersize and tears severe calorie restriction until I finally realized I am damn sick and tired of being at war with my body. Short of developing full-blown anorexia, I am never going to weigh 120 pounds again. My body wasn’t healthy at that weight and I am much better off where I am now.

I began NIA dance classes again recently and it’s been a very healing experience for me. When I dance, when I move, even if I don’t do it perfectly, I have these moments here and there where I feel truly powerful, truly strong and beautiful in my body. It’s helping me feel appreciative of my body for the first time in my life. It doesn’t matter if my stomach sticks out or my I think my arms look flabby, or I don’t like my thighs–I know that my body is inherently strong and powerful and graceful. This is helping me so much to finally, finally come to a place a peace about my body.

I just wish I could hug all each and every one of you and tell you that you are all beautiful.

Hell, for all we know at this point, the girl’s body image was so distorted she thought she was in the same category of fatness as zuzu and thought she was expressing some kind of solidarity.

I know that at 5′2″ and about 200 lbs I can look at myself in the mirror nowadays and smile, whereas at 114 lbs I would walk around an extra block to avoid a building with mirrored windows so as not to have to confront my hideous fatness. I have become my worst fear, and you know what? The planet is still spinning.

Having said all that, though, I think it more likely that young Susie was seeking the kind of “at least I’m not as fat as you” reassurance that zuzu ascribes to her.

This is a touchy issue for me too, lately. A woman I’ve known for almost 20 years has developed an unhealthy fear of fatness in the last four or five years and I can’t even talk to her about the subject any more. She asks me constantly how many calories/how much fat/how many carbs are in this or that (and of course I happen to know, having spent nearly half of my life on one diet or another) and is forever standing up and posing to display some imagined fat (she is extremely lean, to the point of being too skinny) and demanding that I agree that it is possible she has gained some weight.

Her terror at the prospect is real, as is her disgust at what she sees.

I’ve explained over and over to her that I can’t tolerate this, because all I am thinking is that if she sees herself as ugly, fat, and morally bad and lazy (and for her that’s a big piece of it), what in the hell must she think of me? I don’t feel merely criticized or subtly shamed, I feel downright accused.

And I am so done with that shit.

Anyhoo, having gone through my childhood looking like the poster child for famine relief (I have Celiac disease), and having been called The Skinny Bitch for as long as I can remember at work, you’d better believe I have body image problems. Consequently I learned how to bash myself in front of other people so as not to come off as a woman with “threateningly high self esteem.” I hate my hair. I hate my zits. I hate this mole that nobody else sees. I hate my big toe. (whinge) Please don’t hate me because I’m skinny!!! (whinge) Please please please get to know me first and find a better reason to hate me?

That went on for YEARS. Now that I’m over 40, eating more appropriately (no wheat) and old enough to have fat that flops over my brastrap I FINALLY feel like a member of the I-Hate-My-Fat sorority. I have fat issues too, see? Look here! No, closer! That one inch of poodge that drives me up a freaking WALL because I already exercise 4 times a week and WTF????

Oh, freakin %^$#$#* I am so sorry. It didn’t even occur to me that my attempts to join the fat-bashing sisterhood would backfire. Now I’m certain the sisters REALLY want to slap this skinnybitch silly. For the record, every time I fussed over my fat I wasn’t looking for reassurance or fishing for compliments (I have a mirror at home); rather I was just trying to be a “joiner.” It never occurred to me that the heavier women around me were suffering the fat-bashing experience differently than the skinny women. I never thought “Oh, she’s a cow” in reference to the heavier women around me. I was so wrapped up in my own anxieties that I wasn’t thinking about them at all. It was all about ME ME ME ME.

So, if I might project on the hapless SusieCupcake from a million years ago I rather doubt her motives were malicious. Still, what she did was hateworthy in that she was a narcissist. It’s not that she saw you as fat, it’s that (in a way) she didn’t see you at all.