I gained a couple extra pounds over the last few months, seemingly appearing out of nowhere and for no apparent reason. As a former athlete I’ve typically been on the fit side of the body shape equation so it’s been a humbling mindf-ck being on the other side for once. Some people, like my mother, found it all too irresistible to point out the obvious, as though I couldn’t see for myself the damning evidence in my mirror’s reflection, or feel the tightness of my pants.
“You’ve put on weight.” It stung to hear those words directed at me. But hey, it’s mom: she birthed me from her private part, has always kept it 100 with me, and has made unspeakable sacrifices for her kids. I knew she was coming from a place of deep love. So she had her say and I nodded my head in somber agreement.
A friend of mine also had a similar message to deliver, but drew slightly different words from her arsenal to convey it to me; she jabbed the newly jiggly part of my belly with her finger and exclaimed, “Hey, that wasn’t there before! What’s happening?” Naturally, I was mortified — I mean, the girl had physically poked me in the stomach like I was a lab rat. I mumbled back something about evil growth hormones in conventional milk, and then changed the subject...
Excerpt from post originally published on Madame Noire.