"What IS it?"

As a kid, I had short hair, played sports, and was routinely mistaken for a boy. We moved when I was 10, and I started a new school. I kept wearing androgynous clothes and flattening sports bras. I was self-conscious not only of being the new kid with no friends, but of being one of the only kids wearing a bra. I had short, short hair and "boy clothes," but breasts. 

It wasn't until high school that I started dressing girlier and growing my hair out. In homeroom one day, a male classmate gave me an unsolicited compliment on my new look. 

He went on to describe how my appearance used to freak him out because he couldn't tell what I was. The clincher, though, that stuck with me? "I remember when you moved here...I was like, 'Is it a guy or a chick? What IS it?'"

I replied with a sarcastic joke, but in reality, most sentient beings probably wouldn't like being labelled as "it."

"I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore."

My parents both came from pretty rough backgrounds and were raised by Depression Era parents. They were both the oldest of large families, so they had a lot of responsibilities. 

When I was 11, my mom said to me, "I raised my own siblings, and then your brother. I really don't have any interest in being a mom anymore." 

My parents still don't understand why I stopped telling them about awards nights and other school events, or why I dropped out of doing things. It was because I didn't think anyone cared. 

"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."

"You may not be the prettiest girls in the world..."

My mother said this to my sister and me at the ripe old ages of nine and ten, during a "heartfelt" conversation. Those words have stuck with me for over 30 years. 

From that moment on, I never believed it when anyone told me I was cute, pretty, beautiful or gorgeous. I believed that all those people were obviously lying, because my mother said differently. 

My mom apologizes to this day, and she insists that her words came out wrong. And I believe her, because she is often removing her foot from her mouth after unintentionally saying something harmful. I've tried to let it go, but those words are so deeply engrained in me that I fear they can't be erased. 

I've purposely tried to tell my children how handsome and beautiful they are, but I think that my negative outlook of myself has rubbed off on them. Neither one of them see their beauty. I HATE that.

"You're raising a pussy."

I went camping with my family a few years ago. My sister brought her new boyfriend, who kept picking on my four-year-old son. When my sister went for a walk with her boyfriend, my parents asked us what we all thought of him. I said that I didn't like him because he was mean to my kid. 

My father looked me square in the face and said, "Well that's not a reason to not like him! You can't protect your son all his life. You're raising a pussy." 

My son was FOUR! I will never forget that. 

Gorilla

When I was about 8, I was hanging out with my friend who was about four years older than I was.

All of a sudden, she looked down and said,  "Oh my God, you look like a f*cking gorilla with those hairy arms!" and broke into hysterical laughter.

I'm 16 now, and so self conscious about it that I won't leave my house without making sure most of my arms are covered.

Thick Thighs

When I was seven years old, my grandmother told me, "You have such thick thighs." 

Looking back now I realize that I had muscular thighs, not "thick" thighs. 

If she had said "muscular," maybe I wouldn't have spent the next eight years battling anorexia, and the rest of my life recovering.

"Come and get it, I'm giving it away!"

When I was about 11, my friend and I were playing outside on a hot Florida summer day. After a while, we decided to go to her house to cool off in the air conditioning for a bit.

I had let her borrow a pair of my shorts that day, and when we came inside, her dad threw a fit about how short they were. He proceeded to sing, "Come and get it, I'm giving it away!" in a jaunty tune at her until she changed. 

To this day, 16 years later, I can still hear his ugly/jolly voice singing that song every time I put on a pair of shorts.

"Your hair doesn't look THAT bad today."

Growing up, I was picked on constantly, but most of the kids who bullied me eventually stopped by middle/high school. Except for one girl in particular. She was the band director's stepdaughter, basically making it impossible for me to do anything about it. 

I'll never forget the day when we got our pictures taken in our marching band uniforms. I had just gotten my hair cut and highlighted the day before, and thought I looked really pretty. 

She walked up to me and said, "Oh, your hair doesn't look THAT bad today." 

I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach.
 

"You're strong, and you should never forget that."

My art teacher was the one teacher who helped me with my mental illness. He never pointed out when I lost or gained weight, or when it was obvious that I was hiding the new wounds on my arms and legs.  He made sure I ate lunch in his classroom every day because he knew I had an eating disorder. Most days I just ate an apple, but seeing someone put forth so much effort into my well-being helped me more than he will ever know.

I came back to visit him after I graduated, and he told me, "When you first started coming to class your freshman year, I thought we were going to lose you before you graduated."

Then he smiled and said, "But you made it. And you did it on your own. You're strong, and you should never forget that. I'm proud of you."
 

"Do you ever do anything but eat?"

When I was 12, I went to visit my grandparents' foster daughter for a couple of weeks. She had a kid who was my age, so we played and swam all day. I admit I was a pudgy kid, and looking back, I probably used food as an emotional support. 

A few days before we went home, I wandered through their house, looking for swimmer's ear drops. I saw the mom (my grandparents' foster daughter) watching TV with a bowl of popcorn on her lap, and as I passed by I absently asked for a handful. 

She exploded at me, and said, "Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you ever do anything but eat? It's disgusting to watch!" 

I was 12. 

She had known me for less than 2 weeks. 

I will never speak to her again.