I’ve heard some ladies I really like on some reality shows using the phrase, “Get your life,” and I think I finally understand what they mean. Nobody is doing you a favor by thinking you are sexy even if some BMI chart says you don’t deserve life insurance. Nobody is doing you a favor by thinking you kick so much ass at your job even if the business suit you are wearing was purchased at Lane Bryant. Nobody deserves your gratitude for “looking past” your weight. Those people are just seeing things the way a minimally non-garbage person is supposed to. You’re earning everything above and beyond that. You’re “getting your life,” and the people around you are getting some of their life from you. And if that isn’t happening right now, it’s not because you’ve failed to become svelte. It’s because the people around you are turd burglars whose biggest accomplishment, apparently, is owning a shorter belt.
I realize there are people who are DYING to tell you what they think about what you should do with your body. It always starts with, “No offense but…” or “Not to be mean, but…” And it’s always offensive and mean, but also, you probably say things to yourself every day that are way meaner than what any “well-intentioned” “friend” or internet troll could come up with. You’re gonna have to try harder if you want to beat us at our own game, internet trolls. I would pop someone in the chops if they spoke to me the way I speak to myself. And I would bet all of Oprah’s money that Oprah says mean shit to herself too. Oprah does.
I know the reason isn’t because you’re a bad person. Unless you gained weight from eating puppies and babies. But, if you just ate some pizza like everyone else does all the time without giving it a second thought? What is bad about that? And, yes, eating sensibly is a great idea. 2 eggs. 4 ounces of chicken. 1 cup of Brussels sprouts. 1/3 cup of polenta. That’s what I’ve eaten today. Very sensible. I’ve gotten in the habit of memorizing what I put in my mouth so that I can write it down later. I have years of food journals stretching back to when I should have been writing about my crush on Nicholas from “Eight is Enough” and what I hoped Santa would bring me that year. (I probably would have said that I wanted a Barbie Dream House, Wonderwoman Underoos — size extra husky, and to get skinny. Even then.) Do you think Oprah doesn’t have the resources to pull together teams of people to tell her what is sensible to eat? And to berate her when she becomes emotional, breaks down and eats a potato? Where is the sense in any of that?