This caught my attention today. I have nothing snarky to say here, just… reading it made me sad.
[PC]: A story I was told by one of the people I interviewed when researching The Obesity Myth:
Let me tell you a story — just one of many. One summer, when my twins were about three, they were in a little wading pool in my front yard, and I was sitting on my front porch steps watching them and enjoying the beautiful day. I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. A white pickup truck with several guys in it drove by. The truck circled the block, and on the second pass it slowed down and the man in the passenger seat hurled a bottle at me, shouting, “Go back inside where you belong, you fat fucking bitch!” The bottle shattered on the walk, sending glass flying everywhere. Fearing for my children I jumped up and grabbed them, rushing for the house. They were OK, but I cried for days thinking that someone was willing to endanger two babies just for the chance to humiliate me.
Anyone who is, or who has ever been fat has a heart full of stories: some dramatic, others less so, but all painful. Overheard comments, stares, the person who looks with a critical eye into your shopping basket as they pass you in the grocery store — it’s like dying from a thousand knife cuts. No one of them is fatal, but cumulatively, they tear your heart to shreds.