In the 90s
As a child I was labelled as the chubby one in the family. From the age of 7
I would get hounded about it, but looking back now, I was just a little bit
chubbier than the rest of the kids in the family, but clearly that was not
acceptable. My grandparents would always treat me differently, because 1. I was
chubby and 2. Because I was a girl. Sexism at its finest.
I would have to spend my summer holidays at their house with my brother. Six weeks of absolute mental torture. They wouldn’t feed me a decent portion of food compared to my brother’s plate, and it would be made very clear why. My grandma would take us to the park to play on the swings; I remember she would take out a penguin chocolate bar and give it to my brother and say to me that I am too fat so I wasn’t going to get one. I actually remember feeling so bad about myself and asking myself, why I was like this? Why was I considered as chubby? Why am I the only one not getting a treat?
On another occasion my cousins came to visit for the day and they spent the day with us at my grandparents’ house. I was excited as they lived far and I always wanted sisters to play and hangout with. I remember before the lunch plates were put on the table I saw that my grandad bought the weighing scale from the bathroom and placed it in the middle of the kitchen. My heart sank, I felt a panic over me and now as an adult of 27 years I understand that it was an anxiety attack I was experiencing. What came next is horrifying for a 7 year old to go through. Each child was placed on the scale and their weight written down. The child who weighed the most would be shamed. And guess what, it was me. It was horrible for my cousins as well and they’ve told me recently that the weighing scale still haunts them. Again I asked myself, why me? Why are they making me feel bad about myself? As a child I just couldn’t understand and process what was happening. But looking back now shaming a child who was not even over weight for their age is absolutely disgusting behavior.
I used to go to the downstairs bathroom and cry every single day as silently as I could. One of the days both my parents came to pick us up and we were all sitting in the living room. And my Grandma makes a comment about my weight. I remember I could not keep it in anymore I burst into tears and ran to the downstairs bathroom. My uncle came knocking on the door asking me to come out, eventually I came out, my face and eyes red and wet. I walked back into the living room, everyone starred at me and my mum gave me a cuddle and told my grandma not to say those things to me. My Grandmas reply was, your daughter is acting out for no reason and she needs to be disciplined. We went home.
I had no idea at that time as a child how much these events would haunt me as a teenager and as an adult. How it was going to mold my brain to look at myself with such hate towards my body. Carrying this around for 20 years has been so exhausting.
I would have to spend my summer holidays at their house with my brother. Six weeks of absolute mental torture. They wouldn’t feed me a decent portion of food compared to my brother’s plate, and it would be made very clear why. My grandma would take us to the park to play on the swings; I remember she would take out a penguin chocolate bar and give it to my brother and say to me that I am too fat so I wasn’t going to get one. I actually remember feeling so bad about myself and asking myself, why I was like this? Why was I considered as chubby? Why am I the only one not getting a treat?
On another occasion my cousins came to visit for the day and they spent the day with us at my grandparents’ house. I was excited as they lived far and I always wanted sisters to play and hangout with. I remember before the lunch plates were put on the table I saw that my grandad bought the weighing scale from the bathroom and placed it in the middle of the kitchen. My heart sank, I felt a panic over me and now as an adult of 27 years I understand that it was an anxiety attack I was experiencing. What came next is horrifying for a 7 year old to go through. Each child was placed on the scale and their weight written down. The child who weighed the most would be shamed. And guess what, it was me. It was horrible for my cousins as well and they’ve told me recently that the weighing scale still haunts them. Again I asked myself, why me? Why are they making me feel bad about myself? As a child I just couldn’t understand and process what was happening. But looking back now shaming a child who was not even over weight for their age is absolutely disgusting behavior.
I used to go to the downstairs bathroom and cry every single day as silently as I could. One of the days both my parents came to pick us up and we were all sitting in the living room. And my Grandma makes a comment about my weight. I remember I could not keep it in anymore I burst into tears and ran to the downstairs bathroom. My uncle came knocking on the door asking me to come out, eventually I came out, my face and eyes red and wet. I walked back into the living room, everyone starred at me and my mum gave me a cuddle and told my grandma not to say those things to me. My Grandmas reply was, your daughter is acting out for no reason and she needs to be disciplined. We went home.
I had no idea at that time as a child how much these events would haunt me as a teenager and as an adult. How it was going to mold my brain to look at myself with such hate towards my body. Carrying this around for 20 years has been so exhausting.
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