I can do more now post-op, & I’m starting to lose some weight. I don’t know if it’ll become noticeable, but in case it does:

***please don’t tie my worth or character or beauty to my size.***

Gaining, thanks to meds & treatment, wasn’t bad. Losing isn’t good. They just are.

I’ve been bulimic for most of my life, on and off. It’s a common tagalong friend to trauma.

When I hear good job for losing weight, my brain interprets that as if it would be better if I lost more. And more. And more.

I am good and beautiful and worthy at size 12 or size 20.

If getting smaller is “good,” then we’ve turned size into a measure of something it was never meant to be.

We’re also saying getting bigger is “bad.”

As those messages become engrained, we end of believing our goodness is based in a number on a scale. IT IS NOT.

When Lee died, some hateful internet cowards looked at our family pictures, noted that Lee & I weighed more in the most recent ones, & suggested online that Lee wouldn’t have died if he had weighed less.

The 20 pounds Lee gained in his final years of life didn’t break his neck.

This. Is. Not. Okay.

No body is shameful.

Our weight isn’t a measure of shame.

We can change how we view things so that the size shaming attitudes aren’t the family heirlooms, passed from generation to generation.

We’ll forget sometimes, and we’ll do it imperfectly, but we can learn.

Unlearning lies can really suck, though.