Bigger Isn't Better, Actually.

 I lost a bunch of weight.

I mean, I gained a bunch first.  During Covid, switching from running around campus lecturing all day to sitting in a desk chair on Zoom for 8 hours straight changed my body, as did finding comfort in meal time. 

But then, after a summer of trying to make good food choices and incorporate more movement into my daily life (which did nothing), the weight started melting off.

I think it was stress?  First I stopped eating and enjoying food, and beer started to upset my stomach.  Then I became anemic, which somehow made food even less appetizing, plus I began throwing up occasionally.  Stress?  Maybe?  Who knows. The weight melted off, quickly enough for the uninvited comments from older acquaintances to pile up in one week.

Here's the thing folks don't realize.  When you say, "Wow, you look great, you've lost weight!" what I hear is, "We noticed you got fat and we didn't like it.  So glad you are back on team-thin, where we want you.  You are a much better person now than you were when your pants size was bigger."

more or less.

 At least that's how I feel.  I had close family members insist I was getting healthier, even though I felt tired, stressed, fatigued.  The connection between thinness and health so strong they could imagine that I hadn't taken up a secret gym membership somehow, or stopped gobbling pints of ice cream to lose the weight.  I haven't.  No one seems to care.

What they care about is that my body is smaller, more acceptable.  "Buying clothes will be so much more fun!" my mother exclaims, as if we have identicle preferences.  The feedback is consistent and omnipresent; I am better for my smaller body.  Everyone is proud of it, prefers it.  It is a great way to make people I'm not particularly close to happy with by existence.

 So, it feeds into my codependency nicely.