Free Designated Fat Girl by Jennifer Joyner Page A

many other areas of my life, I used my weight gain as an excuse to mishandle the friendships in my life. I lost touch with so many important people, all because I couldn’t admit the truth about who I was or was too ashamed to show myself in public. My weight battle left an ocean of regret in its wake, and even as I write this today, I don’t know that I will ever truly recover from my own disappointment.

5
Vanity Is a Luxury I Can’t Afford
    I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you about mooning
my in-laws.
    Yes, you read that right.
    It was way back in 1996. Michael and I had been married for three years, and I was hopelessly entrenched in my weight battle. I don’t remember exactly how much I weighed, but I’m thinking it must have been about 240 or so. I say that because on the day in question, I was wearing shorts. I feel pretty confident that once I hit the 250 mark (and beyond), shorts were not something I ever wore in public. Perhaps this incident is the reason why.
    Michael and I had just gotten a new puppy, a cute little Jack Russell terrier we named Sasha and who still lives with us today. We were excited to show Michael’s parents, so we brought her over to their house. We were all in the family room, sitting on the floor, admiring the new snow-white addition to the family. Michael excused himself for a moment to use the restroom. As soon as he left the room, Sasha stopped jumping and playing on the floor and acted as if she might squat and pee right there on their beautiful rug. Horrified, I jumped up and grabbed her, moving quickly to the back door to take her outside.
    And my shorts fell to my ankles.
    And. I. Wasn’t. Wearing. Underwear.
    You see, I was such a hopeless mess about the weight gain and what to do about it that when my underwear no longer fit, I simply stopped buying any. And it didn’t help that the shorts I was wearing were from about thirty pounds previous and the elastic was pretty shot. Of course it made no sense, and the shame that I feel now recounting the story is only slightly eclipsed by the sheer horror I felt right in that moment. I froze for about half a second—which felt like an eternity—as I stood at that back door, completely mortified, wondering what in the hell to do. In the end I felt I had no other choice. As deftly as I could, I bent down (aagh!) and picked my shorts back up. Then I walked out the back door, never facing them or seeing their reaction.
    And I never spoke of it. Ever.
    I never told Michael. And I certainly didn’t say anything to my in-laws. I remained outside with Sasha quite a while, and when I came back in, Michael had rejoined his parents. They didn’t say a word, and they never indicated they saw anything.
    Many of my experiences as an obese person were quite painful and will take years for me to process. But this incident, while embarrassing beyond words, does make me chuckle just a bit. The moral of the story: No matter how much you weigh, if you’re planning to go commando, make sure your shorts fit!
    They say hindsight is twenty-twenty, and I’m sure all of us can think of several things we’d like to go back and change in our lives. I certainly would love to have not experienced such a huge weight gain, with all its implications. But even within that struggle, I see so many ways in which I didn’t help matters, and in some cases, I made them much, much worse.
    For example, clothes. When I was a teenager, I was such a clotheshorse. I worked in a department store, and I used my discount to buy beautiful jackets and sweaters and suits. I always dressed older than my age, and I was usually overdressed, even at school. But I loved it. I enjoyed looking professional, even as a young adult. And I loved picking out clothes and trying new combinations.
    I suppose you could say I was overcompensating. I was always overweight, and I never felt pretty or admired. Clothes were my way of looking as nice as I possibly could, and I took great