Same Kind of Different As Me
Dear Doctor Man,
I see you as you sit on your stool, observing my body. Your
eyes furrow as you look me up and down, and I’m sure I know what comes next.
You draw it out, slowly, as if talking to a child. You need
to “looooose…” and you wait for me to finish the sentence.
“Weight.” My shoulders slump, did you notice that?
You nod excitedly, “Exactly.
There’s just too much of you.”
Too much.
My whole life—that phrase has haunted me. Too fiery, too
outspoken, and yet somehow always not enough. You thought it was your duty to
tell me, to help the poor ignorant girl across from you, with all your
learning and experience {even though my visit has nothing to do with my weight.} I assume that’s why you drew out your words and asked me to finish
your sentences like a Kindergartner.
I wonder man of knowledge; did you know what those words
would do? How they’d rip right through me and lay me bare? You didn’t know about my eating
disorder, about the years of abuse I did to my body that have resulted in
consequences I never expected, or how long I’ve struggled to accept this earthly
vessel and call it good.
I fear all your degrees have not
taught you compassion. Like everyone else, you subscribe to
a standard of judgment that sees the outside. To you, I’m merely a woman with a
weight problem. And six months ago that
is all I would’ve seen too.
But oh, dear doctor. I’m that woman no longer. I’m learning {slowly} to call myself good.
And I see you there too. Your
struggles, not with weight, but with significance. So eager to give out
knowledge, to seem like you have it all together. But I notice a tan line where
a wedding ring was, and your eyes, they seem tired. I know the feeling.
So I’ll be kind, because we both have stories to tell. Jesus
died to redeem them both. And maybe one day I’ll sit in your office and explain
this all to you, and maybe you’ll listen so that the next girl doesn’t hear
those words—too much.
Until then, I take my prescription from your hands and smile.
What a wonderful post, Alex. I love that you're becoming comfortable with yourself, also that you chose kindness in this situation. What a beautiful soul you have!
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