"whale is a term of endearment"
yes, someone has actually said that to me
mentions of body image issues, fluctuating weight and eating disorder behaviours.
after reading bella’s post “on my body” a couple months back, i was inspired to write this piece.
for most of my life my weight has been a topic that lingered in the forefront of my mind.
when i was little my neighbour’s dad called me chicken legs, because i had bigger thighs than calves, like a drumstick, unlike his daughter, my friend, who had a thigh gap and skinny legs. this is the first time i had thought about my weight, and sadly i’ve thought about my weight every single day since then.
chicken legs or whatever, i was an athlete and had bigger toned thighs for the multiple sports i played. in one sport i was told i had potential, so much so they put me on the young elite squad. my coach pulled me aside one morning and “gifted” me a meal plan. she said i was getting too heavy for the sport and it would ultimately affect my lap time. she said it was her due diligence to speak to me about losing weight, i was 12, my period hadn’t even come. and this meal plan, could help stave it from coming for a little longer.
i, too, was called whale by my friend. how creative and how original. after my friends questioned him, he told them it was a term of endearment. “whale is a term of endearment, you know that right” he said to me. when pressed as to why he’d say that - i can’t remember what he said but i remember how he hesitates and started pulling shit out of his ass. he was alluding to my weight.
i can remember each time i moved up a size.
back in 2019 when i was trying on dresses for my year 12 formal, i noticed my usual size fit a little too snug. this is the moment when i moved to up one.
in 2023, i started on a small dose of lexapro, and it made me lose weight, it was messing with my appetite, and this was a concern of mine, but my doctor said, “isn’t that a good thing?” and laughed.
in 2024, after doubling and then doubling again my lexapro dose, within a few months i went up two sizes. it was noticeable. but i no longer was battling an uphill battle with my depression and i felt happy for the first time. happy to eat whatever i wanted, i called my happy weight. it saddens me that i felt the need to name it, in hopes of coming to terms with the noticeable change.
my mother would make comments and poke and prod “where has my skinny emily gone?” she’d blow up her cheeks like a chimpmuck insinuating chubbiness. she has done this since puberty, since i inherited the hips and bust that runs in the family.
i have thought over and over again how i should just stick my finger in the back of my throat and let the contents of my meal out. or when i’m buying panadol at the supermarket, the laxatives are right underneath, every time i pick up a bottle and think about my options. surely taking a couple after every meal to feel empty and light will help shave off a few. skipping a meal or two doesn’t seem so bad, except when i binge at the end of the day. and the cycle continues.
at the same time, my friend was losing weight, and she offered to pass some of her clothes onto to me. yes of course, i’ll take free clothes! however, she would say things, “they’re so massive on me,” or “they’re so baggy on me now.” i’m not diminishing her determination and dedication in achieving her goal/s, but now i’m scared to take them. what if her massive, baggy clothes fit me like a glove or are too small for me?
people wonder why i’m not in a relationship, and i had an epiphany, i’ve had years and years of this thought where i’ve learnt to equate love and looks.
i thought i wouldn’t fall in love, i don’t deserve love because i’m not skinny.
i believed i couldn’t be seen as attractive by someone because of my weight,
i believed i was too fat for love.
this is one of those things i KNOW isn’t true, but my brain always thinks about this.
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okay until next time,
bye x