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Trigger warning: Discussion of health.

My sister and I look nothing alike. I have red hair, she has brown hair. I have blue eyes, she has brown eyes. I’m as pale as can be, she’s olive toned. I’m fat, she’s not. But she feels that way.

When we were talking last night, I asked if she brought her swimsuit. If I have to spend a week in a hot and humid location, I’m definitely finding room to pack a swimsuit. She didn’t because she decided she’s too fat. I reminded her that everybody has a body and they come in a variety of shapes. Her response surprised me: “I’m not like you. I haven’t gotten over my body yet.”

It wasn’t really a matter of getting over my body because it’s not like I had a body transplant. It was about getting over the irrational fear of my body. One way to deal with phobias is to make a list of the negative thoughts you have and then find ways to redirect the thinking. Funnily enough, my sister’s body was the catalyst for addressing a lot of my thoughts. What about our bodies scare us?

I am afraid I will be doomed to a lifetime of ugly clothing

This is a fear common to both of us. She had a hard time finding clothes that fit as a size 0, I had a hard time finding clothes that fit as a size 12, 14, 16, etc. There are a few ways to approach this:

1. Patterns are designed for an average body, which many of us don’t have. As a result people end up with sleeves too long, pants too short, button downs that don’t button down, empire waists that are floppy on top, strangling necks, etc. The more times a pattern is used to cut a garment, the smaller it becomes until you’re left wondering why one pant fits and its identical twin in a different color doesn’t. It’s not a body size problem, it’s a production problem.
2. We’re no longer limited to whatever is stocked at the local mall. When living in an area that was predominantly Asian, I’d be lucky to find anything over a size 8. A couple cities over, where the population was predominantly Latino, I had better luck with clothing. I’m sure the plus-sized Asians and petite Latinas were doing the same thing I was doing because the stores stocked what they thought their demographic wore and said to hell with the rest of us. Thanks to e-commerce, I no longer have to figure out where the similarly-sized people are living. Better still, I never have to leave home. I can browse inventory in my pajamas and the garments will show up on my doorstep.
3. A changed body is a chance to get out of your comfort zone and see what works on the new you. Empire waists always gave me a quad-boob in straight sizes. They still hit a tad too high in plus sizes, but the look isn’t nearly as detrimental. I was convinced skinny jeans described the kind of people who wore them, but it turns out I was wrong. Princess-seamed clothing looked horrible on my sister’s beanpole body and great on her current one.

I’m afraid people will make fun of me

I’ve been super geeky pretty much from birth. I’m also a curly-haired ginger. Those traits alone were sufficient for plenty of crap from people. In gym class, I’d get made fun of for having boobs. In gym class, someone else would get made fun of for not having boobs. You’d be laughed at for doing well, you’d be laughed at for sucking. There’s no pleasing some people. It sucks the most when you’re school-aged because you’re stuck with those people.

As an adult, it’s much easier to tell those people to go to hell and not have to associate with them further. Sometimes you just have to hit back. I had the misfortune of sharing a table for two weeks on a cruise ship with a woman who had deputized herself Body & Food Police, Moral Authority, and Judge of Life Quality. After 13 days of hearing how horrible my non-drinking, non-partying, Type A, non-Komen-supporting, single, awesome life in my fat body was, she mentioned that she needed dessert like she needed a hole in her head. I asked her which caliber hole she’d prefer and she was practically cordial on the final night. I saw her again on another cruise and the extent of our interaction was me closing an elevator on her à la Wizard of Oz. I was rushing to dinner and not paying attention, remarked, “I guess the elevator didn’t like you,” saw who it was, and had to get through the ride without laughing.

I’m afraid nobody will want to date me

This is another one my sister’s body really helped me with before embracing my asexuality. She got rejected for her body as often as I did for mine. I used to love when people I dated described what they thought was ugly without realizing they were describing me. I got a few takeaways from the experience. First, there’s no accounting for taste. Take a look at the variety of porn being produced. The overly-altered skinny blonde might be the mainstream, but you can find content for any body type or interest. Whatever you look like, someone’s into it. Secondly, people have no clue. They might decide a number or a measurement is ugly, but they have no concept of what that number or measurement looks like in reality. Furthermore, anything can happen to a body during its lifespan. If you’re in a severely-disfiguring accident, the last thing on your mind should be whether your partner is going to leave you because they no longer like your look.

I’m afraid I’ll be sick/dead from fat

What does your bloodwork look like? I have issues with doctors, which always tends to raise my blood pressure. Rather than put up with the lecture about dropping dead from a heart attack, I ask them to take it again at the end of the appointment. No lecture necessary. We place doctors in positions of authority and trust. It’s really easy to accept everything they say as gospel. Personally, I place trust above authority. If I don’t have faith that my doctor is treating me to the best of their ability, it’s time to end the relationship. If the best of their ability is to diagnose me as fat, they need to be fired for incompetence.

I’m afraid I’ll “get over my body” and then end up sick/dead from fat

In other words, what if I’m wrong? What’s the worst that happens if you’re wrong? You end up sick/dead from fat with a period of time where you weren’t afraid of your body. It was time you could wear a swimsuit, travel, date, and whatever else you want to do with your life. If you’re going to end up sick/dead from fat anyway, wouldn’t you rather precede it with an anxiety-free interval? What good does dreading sick/dead from fat achieve? Everybody dies sometime.