My Neighbor Body Shamed Me, and This is How I Stood Up to Him

Jessica Ivins
Aug 23, 2017 · 9 min read
Photo courtesy of SkyLuke8.

One evening last summer, I walked through my apartment building, heading home to my apartment. My neighbor, Rob (not his real name), his girlfriend, and their four dogs walked toward me down the hallway. One dog was running, trailing her leash behind her. Another dog had no leash at all.

The dog with no leash ran up to me. I moved against the wall and stood still. I’m allergic to dogs.

I said to my neighbor, in a polite and stern tone, “Would you please put your dog on a leash? I’m allergic to dogs.”

Rob walked over to me, picked up the dog, and said, “I’ll carry her downstairs.” Rob, his girlfriend, and the dogs got on the elevator and left.

I walked into my apartment. A few minutes later, I could hear Rob and his girlfriend outside, standing just below my balcony. My windows and my balcony door were open. They had let their dogs out behind the apartment building.

I heard Rob say to his girlfriend, “Well, I’m allergic to fat people!”

My heart raced. I knew he was talking about me. He was mocking my allergy and more importantly, he was mocking my body.

I’ve been fat shamed and put down about my appearance for most of my life. Fat shaming was not new to me, though this incident was the first in many years. My heart continued to race, as it always does in these situations. I trembled. I was appalled to hear these words coming from my neighbor, a grown man close to me in age.

I contemplated what to do. Should I stay inside and ignore his comments? Should I say something?

I heard him say it again. “I’m allergic to fat people!”

I decided to confront him. I walked onto my balcony. Rob and his girlfriend didn’t see me. While I was standing above him, he continued to say, “I’m allergic to fat people!”

“Hi,” I said, in a calm voice (and not loudly — I was standing right above them). “I can hear what you’re saying.”

Rob and his girlfriend looked up at me. At first, they said nothing. I waited a moment, and said, “I asked you to put your dog on a leash because I’m legitimately allergic to dogs.”

“Well, I’m legitimately allergic to fat people!” Rob yelled up at me.

I thought to myself, “Is this really happening? Was my neighbor — an adult in his thirties — body shaming me for asking him to leash his dogs?”

“Do you really have to body shame me?” I asked, calmly.

“Well, I’m an asshole!” Rob replied. “You piss me off, that’s what you get. I’m an asshole.”

As he said these things to me, he looked directly at me and stretched his arms out wide. He puffed up his chest. It was aggressive body language, the body language people use when they’re provoking a physical fight.

For a moment, I thought, “Is this guy going to hurt me if I continue confronting him?”

I said, calmly, trying to steer the conversation back to his dog, “I’m asking you to put your dog on a leash because I’m allergic to dogs.”

Rob gestured toward his girlfriend and said, “Whatever. She and I aren’t fat because we go to the gym!”

I thought, again, is this seriously happening?

The dogs finished going to the bathroom. Rob and his crew made their way back to the apartment building entrance. He said, “Whatever. I don’t know what your problem is. I’m friends with so many people in this building, and they all love my dogs. You’re the only one who doesn’t like them.”

He added, sarcastically, “Have a good night!”

And with that, he entered the building.

I grabbed my keys and my phone, walked into the hallway, and waited for him at his door. Rob lived two doors down from my apartment.

A minute later, Rob walked down the hall with his girlfriend and his dogs. They saw me waiting at his door. I smiled politely. As they approached, I looked Rob in the eye, and I said, “Hi. We have to live across the hall from each other. Can we have an adult conversation about this that doesn’t involve name-calling or insults?”

“Okay,” Rob muttered. He stood still, crossed his arms, and looked at me. His girlfriend pushed the dogs into his apartment, then waited outside with him. She looked directly into my eyes like a deer in headlights, never once saying a word to me.

I said, “I know I’m allergic to dogs because I’ve had allergy tests. I’m asking you to put your dog on a leash, so she doesn’t come into contact with me.”

Rob rolled his eyes. “She was on a leash!” he snapped.

This was baffling to me. Clearly, the dog was not on a leash. I steered the conversation back to reality.

“Help me understand what you’re trying to say. Your dog wasn’t on a leash. You said you would carry her because she didn’t have a leash. The other dog was trailing her leash. No one was holding the leash until I asked you to leash your dogs. I don’t understand what you mean when you say ‘she was on a leash.’”

“Whatever,” he snapped. Again, he pointed to his girlfriend. “She and I aren’t fat because we go the gym every day.”

I swallowed, and I paused. I replied, “I go to the gym most days, too. I have health issues that cause me to retain weight.”

(This is the only time I got angry with myself for how I handled the situation. My health and my weight are my own business. I have no reason to explain myself to him or to anyone else.)

Again, I tried steering the conversation back to the dog.

“This isn’t about what I look like or what my exercise habits are. This is about putting your dog on a leash.”

“Well, like I said, I’m an asshole.” He shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms again.

I said, “This isn’t the first time your dog’s approached me while off a leash. She’s come up to me and licked my feet before. I’m allergic to dogs, and I don’t want them licking my feet.”

He said, “I’ve lived here since November, and I’ve never seen you here before. My dog has never licked your feet.”

I said, “Your dog licked my feet before, downstairs, in the lobby, when she was off a leash.”

Then, I remembered I had seen him at professional networking events around Chattanooga. “I’ve seen you at the Chattanooga Developer lunches. You work in tech, right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. He looked down at the floor.

“What company do you work for?” I asked, curiously and politely.

He said, “I don’t want to tell you where I work.”

“That’s fine,” I said. “You don’t have to tell me. You may not recognize me, but I recognize you. I’ve seen you around town. I run a design Meetup here in Chattanooga. And I go to other tech events. The tech community here is small, so we probably know a lot of the same people.”

By this point, he looked exasperated. He was grasping for straw man arguments, and he was looking at the floor.

“Look,” he said. “My dogs are like my children. If you insult my dogs, I’m going to get angry.”

I said, as calm as always, “I didn’t insult your dogs. I asked you to put them on a leash.”

Rob and his girlfriend slowly inched their way into his apartment.

“Well, it’s late. Have a good night!” he said, with more sarcasm, as he moved closer to his apartment.

“Look,” I said, before he closed the door, “I’ve heard everything you’ve said about my body and my appearance. I’ve heard the things you intended for me to hear and the things you didn’t intend for me to hear. It’s all very hurtful. I want you to know that. It’s very hurtful.”

“Okay,” he said, with a smug smile. “Have a great night.”

He entered his apartment and shut the door.

I returned to my apartment and sat down. I cried immediately. Every incident of bullying and fat shaming I endured, since childhood and early adulthood — every one — came flooding back to me.

After high school, I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with this treatment anymore. I’d worked hard to steer clear of people who put me down. I became a successful woman with a great career. I surrounded myself with nice friends. Why were people still treating me like this?

I called a friend right away. I told her what happened. She was horrified.

“Did my neighbor just do this to me? Doesn’t he realize we have to live across the hall from each other?” I asked her. My heart was pounding. The adrenaline was running. I felt awful.

And yet, I was proud of what I had done. For the first time in my life, ever, I confronted someone for bullying me about my body — and I did so with dignity. I never once yelled at Rob. I never lost my cool. I never insulted him. I never raised my voice. Not once.

About 20 minutes after he shut his apartment door on me, I heard a knock at my door. I looked out the eye hole. It was Rob.

I wasn’t sure if I should open the door. Was he going to apologize or beat the shit out of me? I remembered his aggressive gesture. I was still on the phone with my friend. My friend insisted I keep her on the line instead of hanging up to answer the door.

I opened the door and said, calmly, “Can I help you?”

He stood there, with his hands in his pockets, and he apologized.

It was a legitimate, honest apology.

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t say anything else.

He apologized again.

Again, I said thank you, and then he left.

His apology immediately lifted some of my anxiety and my fear. The adrenaline subsided a bit.

Still, I was devastated. I hadn’t been treated so cruelly in years.

Over the next few days, I cried. I barely slept. I told my friends and my co-workers what happened. I told anyone in my life who would listen.

When I shared this story, my friends and co-workers were appalled at Rob’s behavior. They commended me for how graciously I dealt with Rob. My boss said he was impressed with how well I handled the situation. He said he was confident I’d manage conflicts at work with the same grace and the same professionalism.

I appreciated that. I was proud of how well I composed myself. And still, I was angry that I had to stand up for myself in the first place. A grown man treated me like an eleven-year-old bully treats a fat kid on the playground. I had to take the high road. I had to hold the moral compass. I had to stand my ground at this stage of my life, as a grown woman in my thirties.

After that incident, Rob was cordial to me. I saw him often in the hallway or in the elevator. I only spoke to him if I absolutely had to. Yeah, those were some awkward elevator rides.

Rob rarely leashed his dogs after our incident. I said nothing else to him about the dogs, even when his unleashed dog ran up to me again. Everything that needed to be said was already said.

I avoided him and his dogs until he moved away, about six months after that incident. I haven’t seen him since.

My hope is that Rob will never, ever, treat anyone like that again. My hope is that our conflict was an opportunity for Rob to grow as a human being.

My personal hope is that my body will never again have to be a stomping ground for someone else’s moral growth.

It’s not okay to shame anyone about their weight or their appearance. Ever. No one’s body is up for public discussion or debate. Another person’s appearance is not a target to hit when you feel attacked or threatened by that person. Another person’s size is that person’s business and no one else’s business — end of discussion.

For every person like me who stands up to body shaming, there are plenty of people who don’t. Standing up for your body is scary. It’s exhausting. It’s painful, and the pain stays with you for a long time.

Let’s all do our part to treat each other with kindness and courtesy, regardless of body size, and regardless of appearance. I’ve already had to deal with one Rob. It exhausted me for days, weeks even. I hope I don’t have to transform another Rob ever again.

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Jessica Ivins

Written by

UX designer, educator, and speaker. Faculty member @CenterCentre, the UX design school. Formerly @HappyCog. I like veggies, music, and Oxford commas.

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