By: Julia Thompson
Updated: May 26, 2020
Originally Published: Jan. 10, 2018
My father’s health has been declining due to a serious illness, and there’s a chance he might need an organ transplant in the future. One afternoon, I passionately reassured him that I would gladly donate if he needed it. His response? “As long as you don’t end up like your cousin,” he said, referencing a relative’s weight. I was taken aback—not because I was a size eight at the time, but because I couldn’t believe he would respond to my generous offer with a jab at someone else’s appearance.
I won’t mention the relative’s name, nor will I disclose any others in this piece. I refuse to contribute to my father’s cruel behavior or embarrass anyone else—because they have nothing to be ashamed of. He does.
The situation escalated when I brought my then-9-month-old son to visit. During that time, my father launched into a tirade about another relative, using body shaming as his main argument. To him, her size represented not just physical unattractiveness but also a moral decline. Raised to be excessively respectful (read: to tolerate any and all nonsense he spewed), I felt obligated to listen. I nodded along out of fear of being accused of disrespect.
It took a painful divorce and his battle with alcoholism for me to finally assert myself and say, “Enough is enough.” I reached out to a family member and learned about the emotional scars his shaming had inflicted. As she spoke, I recalled the voices from my body-positive social media groups, all sharing their fears of judgment based on weight. The pain from casual insults and the pressure to conform to societal standards weighed heavily on me. I remembered the shame of being criticized for enjoying an extra serving or indulging in dessert—feelings that often led to unhealthy yo-yo dieting, a futile effort that rarely yields lasting results.
I also recalled my childhood, hearing my father call people I loved “fat” or “heifers,” telling them they needed to diet before they “porked up” even more. I felt both smug—because I was thin—and terrified—wondering if I, too, would one day be on the receiving end of his harsh words.
As my struggles with anxiety and depression peaked during high school, they manifested in various destructive ways. One particularly troubling outlet was a battle with an eating disorder. At just 100 lbs, I was convinced I was overweight. I fixated on my nonexistent stomach, exercised obsessively, and used jello packets as meal replacements. I even resorted to purging dinner. The scale became my enemy, and I lived in constant fear of judgment. I felt an overwhelming need to prove my worth, which I believed was tied to being thin.
Now, I’m breaking free from this toxic cycle, and I’m taking my children with me. Above all, I refuse to expose my sons to my father’s harmful attitudes. His comments are not merely harmful rants; they reflect a deeper inability to see beauty beyond a certain size, reducing women to mere objects of physical attraction. Once a woman crosses a weight threshold, she becomes not only undesirable but also deemed lazy and negligent—signifying a failure to uphold societal standards.
My father’s thinness is genetic. A relative of mine is a police officer, and she’s often praised for her physique, which frustrates me. I know I inherited my body type from the other side of my family, which is prone to thyroid issues and gradual weight gain. I understand that many women share my struggle, and we can either accept our genetics or continue battling them to fit into an unrealistic mold.
Food has always been a source of joy and connection for me. Recently, when my mother visited, we baked a traditional family pastry—nutroll. It was a delightful, messy experience that brought us closer, filled with laughter and love. I cherished that time far more than any superficial concerns about weight. Food is meant to unite us, not divide us, and we shouldn’t feel ashamed for enjoying it.
I know my father would criticize me for indulging in four slices of nutroll for breakfast, especially since I’ve gained some weight lately. But I refuse to let that inner voice dictate my happiness or my relationship with food.
Some may argue that “blood is thicker than water” and suggest I should reconcile with my father, either confronting him or simply ignoring his behavior. But body shaming is a serious issue, revealing a callous attitude that views individuals as mere reflections of their appearance. This toxic mindset not only harms others but also fosters a culture of judgment and pain.
I refuse to be complicit in this cycle of negativity. I will not live in constant anxiety or fear of judgment from him. I won’t expose my children to his harmful remarks or allow them to hear him speak about their loved ones in such a degrading manner. So, I’ve decided to distance myself from his toxic influence.
I don’t need another source of stress, so I’m ghosting my father due to his body shaming, and I’m perfectly okay with that.
Summary:
In this article, Julia Thompson recounts her painful experiences with her father’s body shaming and the impact it had on her life and mental health. After years of tolerating his cruel remarks and toxic attitudes, she resolves to cut ties and protect her children from similar negative influences. By embracing body positivity and the joy that food can bring, she chooses to prioritize her family’s well-being over toxic familial relationships.