A family member of mine follows a very specific pattern in her stories…
She brings up so and so, tells me a random story, and then comments on her weight.
I hate it.
It may be framed as worry, (“That can’t be healthy”) but to me, all framing feels like judgement.
On the flip, sometimes (though nowhere near as often) that comment is a positive. Lost so much. Worked so hard. Never looked better.
I hate that too.
I come from a mixed breed, weight wise family. My Dad’s side is slender but solidly built and chubby around the middle. My Mom is 95lbs soaking wet. Weight is not something I ever put too much thought into, unless it’s consuming the ridiculous message “Big = bad”.
Most of my girlfriends, however, have struggled in one way or the other. The roller coaster ride of attempts followed by success, failure, success, failure.
I don’t for a second want to suggest that I’m above noticing when you’ve gotten bigger or more slender, like people who suggest they don’t see skin colouring. I’m not blind, though I also don’t pay that much attention to those specifics. But why I don’t want to address the good, or the bad, is simple.
For me, speaking about the ups or downs admits to the opposing side. If I comment that you look so good, lost so much, it suggests I was silently paying attention during the times you were unhappy with your weight (I wasn’t). It also gives imbalanced importance to my opinion when with all things body, only opinion that matters is your own, maybe your doctors.
Simply, if you bring up your weight or someone else’s, you’re going to get the Bossy patented, I will not be discussing this topic, response: “Hmm.” I love you. I want you to love you. And I want to go back to discussing world politics, deep thinkers on life and animals we should adopt. Kay?