Lifestyle
I’m Severing Ties With My Father Due to His Continuous Body Shaming
by Jessica Thompson
Updated: May 26, 2020
Originally Published: January 10, 2018
My father is battling a health condition that could one day necessitate an organ transplant. One afternoon, while expressing my willingness to donate, he bluntly warned me, “Just don’t end up like so-and-so,” referring to a family member’s size. I was taken aback—not because I was a size eight at the time, but due to his ability to turn my selfless offer into a dig at someone else’s appearance.
I won’t disclose the name of that relative or any others in this narrative, as I refuse to further my father’s unkindness or embarrass them in any way; they have nothing to be ashamed of—he does.
Things reached a tipping point when I visited my father with my then-9-month-old son. During the visit, my dad launched into a tirade filled with body shaming directed at a relative. It wasn’t just that he deemed her overweight (she wasn’t really); he associated her size with an utter lack of attractiveness and moral failing.
Raised to be excessively respectful (or rather, trained to tolerate his toxic discourse), I felt compelled to nod along, responding with obligatory backchanneling like “mm-hmm” and “uh-huh” to avoid being accused of disrespect.
After enduring his alcoholism, his acrimonious divorce, and his indifference toward my children, I finally found the strength to declare: no more. I spoke with a relative and recognized the emotional scars left by his body shaming. As she shared her experience, I heard echoes of voices from my body-positive community, all expressing fears of judgment regarding their weight. I recalled the pain of casual jibes, the hurt of being labeled a ‘porker,’ and the shame tied to indulgent eating.
I remembered my childhood, hearing his hurtful words directed at those I loved—calling them fat, referring to them as “heifers,” insisting they needed to diet before they “porked up” even further. I experienced a mix of smugness and dread: smugness for being slender and dread for the possibility that I might not always be.
In high school, my anxiety and depression peaked, often manifesting in unhealthy behaviors. I now recognize that my struggles with eating disorders were not mere coincidence. At just 100 pounds, I convinced myself I was overweight, obsessing over my nonexistent belly, exercising excessively, and opting for jello packets as meal replacements. I was terrified of the scale and more so, terrified of judgment. I felt an urgent need to prove my worth, though I couldn’t articulate what that meant. To be worthy, it seemed, I had to be thin.
I’m stepping off that exhausting cycle and bringing my children with me. Most importantly, I refuse to expose my sons to my father’s toxic comments. His remarks often aren’t just cruel rants directed at others; they embody a fundamental inability to see beauty beyond a certain size. Once a woman surpasses a specific weight, she is deemed unattractive and judged as lazy or neglectful. If married, she is perceived as committing a sin against her spouse.
My father’s genetics have favored him with a slim build, while a close relative, a police officer, is sculpted like marble. I’ve grown weary of hearing her praised merely for her appearance. I am also acutely aware of the genetic legacy I inherit from my other relatives—those with thyroid issues and slow metabolisms—who may never achieve a single-digit size. This is simply how we are made, and countless women face the same reality. We can either accept our genetics or drive ourselves to misery in a futile battle against them.
Moreover, we cherish food. When my mother visited, we made nutroll together—our cherished family dish. The process was messy and chaotic, yet filled with laughter and love. We spent wonderful hours bonding over this high-calorie pastry, reminding me that food is meant to unite us, not to be shamed.
I realized my father would likely criticize me for indulging in four slices of nutroll for breakfast, given that I’ve gained some weight recently. I silenced that inner critic.
People may argue that “blood is thicker than water” and suggest I need to reconcile with my father, either confronting him—knowing he’s a yeller who instilled fear in me throughout my childhood—or glossing over the issue. However, body shaming is a serious matter, reflecting a harsh attitude that reduces individuals to mere appearances, dismissing their character and essence. This narrow standard of beauty is not only irrelevant to me and my sons; it is toxic.
Most importantly, body shaming reveals a cold-heartedness and a complete disregard for others’ pain. Who could deny the hurt caused by being labeled “fat” (code for lazy, unattractive, morally lacking)? My father even tries to make me complicit in this toxic behavior, leaving me uncertain about when the judgment might turn against me. I refuse to live with that anxiety or fear. I will not subject myself or my children to the harmful way he treats those I love. So, I’ve decided to distance myself from him.
I’m done dreading interactions and fretting over his opinions. I’m choosing to disengage from my father due to his body-shaming rhetoric. And I stand firm in that decision.
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In summary, I am taking a stand against my father’s body shaming by cutting ties with him to protect my mental health and my children from his toxic views.