SJ Longthorne

This middle finger goes up to the boy in school who went around all the girls — but not the boys — and measured their waists one by one with his hands, pronouncing them acceptable or otherwise. My friend was a healthy kid. He called her “chunky”, and later she’d throw up.

I’ve never been medically overweight, but that hasn’t stopped people telling me they think I am, by their standard. Not once has this encouraged a healthy lifestyle; the formidable urge is to get rid of the weight as fast as possible so the comments end as fast as possible.

Cue disordered eating, years and years of misery, of self-induced social exclusion that I’m still prone to, of every thought being plagued, of dreams where I slice off my fat and my breasts, of fad diets that don’t work, of messing up my digestive system. Worth it? No.

It got to the point where others didn’t need to say anything anymore — just looking in the mirror produced the same worthlessness and self hatred. It’s the hatred that drives unhealthy reactions. Loving your body is a balanced healthy diet and regular, reasonable exercise.

And sometimes it’s the other way around. “I’m a failure, it’s never going to end, I’m never gonna change, what’s the use”. Cue binge eating until my stomach was distended, until the packaging filled the bin and the food was piling up in my throat — and the “compensation” after.

Exercising till I passed out, vomiting until I puked blood, taking dangerous volumes of laxative, spitting food into Tesco bags, entire nights spent on the toilet on the phone to my mum worried that this time the pain was actually gonna kill me. Worth it? No.

We need to change the way we talk about weight, the way we react to it, and it needs to happen now. Your “tough love” was never about compassion, it’s an exercise in misery and an excuse to flex your cruelty. Stop.