I miss being skinny. Three, four years ago while I was teaching I was a size 2, and occasionally I could squeeze into size 0 pants. I killed backpacking trips because I didn’t have a lot of resistance on me. But I was also sick and unhappy. My panic disorder had bested me as an adult, and my nonstop 100+ heart rate and nausea just killed my appetite.
Kids pay attention to the weirdest things. We’d line up to go down to the cafeteria and they’d clamor to see what I was bringing for lunch. “That’s all you’re eating, Ms. Clonch?” “Yep. Ms. Clonch just doesn’t get that hungry at lunch.” I wish I would have told them why.
I wish when a couple kids would go down for their weekly visit with the school psychiatrist, I would have put my hand on their back and whispered, hey, I go to a psychiatrist too.
Ah. so many regrets.
When I miss being skinny, I remind myself I don’t miss the crying and the throwing up and the anxiety. I don’t miss not being able to eat out with friends because of the stress. I don’t miss passing up on fun things because I was afraid.
I’m not disciplined enough to lose the weight I’ve put on (let’s just be real). I still hang on to my skinny pants, and maybe one day I’ll get the motivation to fit back into them. But for right now, I’m happy. my mental health is clear thanks to one tiny capsule a day. My appetite is back to normal. I can say yes to a piece of cake without fear that I’ll have a panic attack and throw it up later. I’m not at risk of dying of a heart attack, and I’m not a glutton. Having thighs has no bearing on my spirituality. My body is God’s temple, and your body is God’s temple too, regardless of our weight. In our love of skinny, let’s not make it an idol.