Have We Gone Too Far in Our Acceptance of Obesity?
Body positivity is bad when we celebrate size at the expense of health.
When I was a child, my mother and aunts affectionately referred to me as “pleasingly plump.” I hated those words. But I hated the nickname my frenemies gave me even more: Fatso.
I didn’t want to be pleasingly plump, and I didn’t want kids calling me Fatso, but genetics and a penchant for sweets made being thin an unattainable dream.
I played with a slew of skinny cousins who wolfed down hot dogs and Debbie Cakes like there was no tomorrow without putting on an ounce. They beat me at tag, dodge ball, and every other outdoor game, their lithe bodies moving gracefully through childhood while I lumbered along.
I got into the habit of wearing long, oversized shirts in an attempt to hide my tummy, and my older sister’s hand-me-down dresses usually had to be altered to fit me.
In fifth grade, a school nurse showed up with the horrifying announcement that she was going to weigh us. She set up a scale, and as each child stepped on it, she called out their weight loudly enough for cruel, relentless classmates to hear.
I was mortified. The snickering started before I had even trudged to the front of the room, with kids…
