Someone said I was “big” today.

All my other qualities, my dreams and hopes and thoughts and sense of humor and personality was condensed to, “Oh, she’s big.”

It keeps echoing in my head, I can’t get it out. I want to. I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to let it bother me. I would much rather hear it and get angry, or just not care. For some reason that’s not happening yet. I’m hoping that blogging about it will make it go away, make it unsaid, make it so that there is actually more to me than the fact that “I’m big”.

“Oh, she’s big.”

“Oh, she’s big.”

“Oh, she’s big.”

“Oh, she’s big.”

I’m sure this person didn’t mean it to make me cry. I’m sure they didn’t mean it in a bad way (if there is a good way to say something like that), I’m sure that if they met me, they would probably like me, at least a little bit.

Only, now I wonder if I want to.

I don’t think I want to expose myself to that kind of judgement. I don’t think I want to look at them and think to myself, that at the back of their minds, I’m just a “big girl”. Someone who’s nothing more than the size of her jeans or the fullness of her cheeks.

The shitty thing is that I have been that person, I’m sure. I’m sure I’ve looked at someone and thought to myself, “Wow, they’re big.” Or I’ve had a hard time looking at them because they’re overweight. Or I’ve described someone as “you know, the fat one?”.

I hate that I have been that person. I never want to be that person again.

I feel really, really hurt.

And I’m probably just a wuss or being way too sensitive. I shouldn’t care what other people think, only what I think. I know this. I know that I should look at it like, “everyone has their own opinion.” Or even, that being big isn’t a negative thing.

At least my body is healthy. At least I am strong. At least I have a brain, and a career, and a house, and strength, and people that love me, and a beautiful son. At least I have those things. Maybe if I keep reminding myself, then by the time I post this it won’t sting quite as much.

Everyone has buttons, and soft spots, and places that they don’t like exposed. And that’s mine. Normally I feel pretty good about myself, and normally it doesn’t matter what people say or think about me; I feel good when they like me, but if they don’t…eh. Life goes on.

But right now, at this moment, I’m crushed.

Make fun of me or something, so I can laugh, because I really don’t want to cry right now.