"...until I fit in."

I've always admired my mom. She married my dad, moved to the US from Mexico, and got her citizenship via naturalization. She worked hard to learn English, and worked even harder to provide for four us after a bitter divorce.

At one point she was working three jobs, and she still always showed us the positive even though we were really poor at the time. She often faced a lot of racism in our small town because of her (and our) heritage. 

One day, I asked her how she does it. A Hispanic woman in a small, Midwestern community making ends meet with a smile on her face, not letting the haters bring her down. She looked at me, smiled and said, "If I'm in a new place, I squish and squeeze until I fit in." 

That's always stuck with me. She made a place for herself and worked hard for it. I'm lucky if I'll ever grow to be half the woman she is.

"If your knees were just a little bit smaller, you'd be perfect."

I was a sprinter on the track and field team all throughout high school. I was in the best shape of my life, but sometimes I felt self conscious about my legs because they were thicker than the other girls' legs (this was a Catholic school, so having sexy little legs with your rolled up skirt was all the rage). 

Usually when I had these thoughts about my legs, I would quickly brush them aside, assuring myself that I was being ridiculous and that my legs looked good.

But one day in sophomore religion class, I sat down next to the "cool/hot" guy, and he said to me, "You're beautiful, but if your knees were just a little bit smaller, you'd be perfect." 

I immediately told him off after he said that, but six years have gone by and his voice is still in the back of my head every time I go to try on skirts or dresses.

"At least one of them will turn out normal."

After years of abuse, a group home, and an abusive foster mother, my life finally settled down. I went to therapy, got diagnosed with depression and PTSD, and received the help I needed. I became happier, more confident, more in control of my life than I have ever been. I felt like for the first time, my life was going in the right direction.

One day I was talking to my adoptive mother about how my little brother might be too young for therapy because he wasn't talking much in his sessions. The she told me what his therapist said to her:

"At least one of them will turn out normal." 

I had always felt judged for what my birth parents did, but hearing that a professional believed that I would forever be tainted because of my past sticks with me. 

I may have issues, but I am not broken. I am not destined to follow in my parents' footsteps and I'm not destined to lose my battle with my illnesses. 

I understand all of this on a logical level, but there's still that intrusive voice telling me that I will fail, I'm sick, I'm not normal, and I never will be.

"It's okay; I'm fat too!"

When I was 9, I was a little more developed than everyone else. One day in class, I walked past a table of kids and I heard one boy say, "Oh, she's so fat!" 

I confronted them, and soon the teacher came by to see what was going on. At first the kids denied having said anything, but eventually the boy confessed, saying, "It's okay; I'm fat too!" 

As if that made it okay. 

A year later, I changed schools and met my two best friends. I'm fifteen now, and we're still best friends. They don't care how I look, and because of their love and support, neither do I. 

 

"You can't leave me alone."

I moved in with my dad when I was 15, but I still felt like my mom and little brother were my responsibility, and that I let them down by leaving to live with my dad.

I told my dad that I wanted to go back to my mom's, and he said things like, "You're being selfish," "You can't leave me alone," "I know you have a better heart than that; you're not like your mom," or "You're two-faced as f**k." 

He would get mad at me if I ever told my mom about my worries or anger towards him, and he would then say nasty comments until I was a crying mess. Then he would send me to school while he would stay home and complain about me to our downstairs neighbors. 

I still can't get over feeling like I've betrayed both of my parents. I still feel responsible for my parents and little brother. I can't help feeling like I'm trapped in a corner.
 

Stomach Ache

When I was in 3rd grade, I walked in on my mom purging, and she told me, "I have a stomach ache, and I have to get everything out to feel better." 

From that moment on, I started purging whenever I had a stomach ache. For years. 

It took me until I was 25 and finally on the proper medication to realize that I've had an eating disorder my whole life, and it all started when my mother told me a story instead of telling me the truth about her problem.

"It's impossible for you to make good decisions."

When I was about eleven, my mother took me to visit her parents. They were emotionally and verbally abusive when she was growing up, and she still constantly seeks their approval. She wanted to show off her golden child so that her parents would have an opportunity to find something good in her.

We ended up in a discussion where my grandfather told me, "It's impossible for you to make good decisions because your brain isn't fully developed. You'll be making bad decisions until your mid-twenties." He added that I would probably be pregnant a few times and that I would borrow (and owe) him money between then and brain maturity time.

He was wrong, but I still remember him saying that.

"You're f*cking disgusting."

One day on my way to school when I was eight years old, I was cornered by a very large 6th grader and his friends. He pushed me up against a brick wall, lifted my shirt, and squeezed my chubby stomach and little fleshy "man boobs." 

He said, "You're so fat. You're f*ckin' disgusting."

As my shirt dropped and the tears started, he wiped his hands on the front of my shirt. 

What stuck with me wasn't necessarily what he said; it was the look he gave when he wiped his hands on my shirt, and the laughs of his friends. 

The absolute humiliation I felt and the sudden awareness that I was "fat and disgusting" is something that has haunted my up until this day. I became a closet, compulsive eater and had bulimic tendencies. I topped out in 2007 at over 520 pounds. 

And even to this day, after a 300+ pound weight loss, I still hear his voice and see his face. Even though I have some recovery under my belt now, I still can't talk to people because I still think I'm disgusting, and don't want to burden them.