As a society, we treat everyone like shit.
You don’t like someone’s beliefs? Trash them. Shout your own louder. It’s just like high school, where the goal was to be the most popular kid in the cafeteria. Empathy feels like a dirty word these days, though it’s the one thing we could all use more of.
With that in mind, let’s tackle one of the cruelest battlegrounds: body image.
Childhood Cruelty
If you grew up as the “fat kid” in school—or the kid with the ragged clothes, the off-brand sneakers, or the not-so-cool lunch—you probably remember what it felt like. Kids are cruel. They say whatever pops into their heads because there’s no filter yet. My junior high science teacher used to call it “opening mouth before engaging brain.”
No one fits the mythical ideal, but those who stray farthest from it become prime targets. If you’re already struggling with self-esteem, the insults don’t just sting in the moment—they burrow in deep, shaping how you see yourself for years.
I wasn’t grossly overweight growing up, but kids slapped me with the “fat kid” label anyway. And once you wear it, it sticks.
The Army and the Mirror
Fast forward to the Army, where weight wasn’t just about self-esteem—it was about survival. They weighed us regularly. If you were near the limit like I always was, you starved yourself before weigh-ins just to pass. It turned mirrors into enemies. I’d check every reflection, terrified I looked heavier. That mindset can turn into an eating disorder.
When I finally left the Army, it was the first time in 15 years I could breathe without the scale dictating my job. But food quickly became my coping mechanism. By the time the pandemic hit, inactivity plus stress pushed me to 317 pounds. Looking back at photos from that time, I see someone buried in shame.
Love, Surgery, and Fallout
One of the reasons I got into a long-term relationship was because my partner didn’t mind a plus-sized man. But inside, the body-image demons were still loud. By 2022, I hit my highest weight and finally got approval for bariatric surgery.
The surgery reset my metabolism and brought all my lab values back into the normal range. Health-wise, it was one of the best choices I’ve made. But it also introduced new complications—especially in my relationship. My partner became insecure, afraid I’d leave him as my confidence returned. On the surface he was supportive, but behind closed doors came the insults.
Let me be blunt: bariatric surgery isn’t vanity. It’s medicine. In my case, it was life-saving.
The Spiral That Never Dies
Even now, years later, one stray comment—“looks like you’ve put on some weight”—can trigger a full spiral. It’s wild how quickly those old wounds reopen.
Most days I know my body looks fine. But those demons? They’re patient. They sit in the corner, waiting for an opening.
Final Reflection
In the end, your dog doesn’t care about your BMI. Your mom doesn’t love you less because you don’t fit into a size 32 waist. The people who actually matter don’t measure you by what the mirror says.
Maybe that’s the empathy we’ve forgotten.