I still remember the first time my father called me “fat.”
I was 9 years old. He and I were standing in the driveway of our home in Meridian, Miss. In just a couple of months, we would move yet again — to Anniston, Ala., this time.
He poked his finger into my little chest as we stood there. I don’t remember his exact words, but I remember being very confused at his anger. Nobody had ever said a word about my weight before. I seemed to be about the same proportions as all my friends, although I was slightly taller and was built bigger than they were. But my father angrily told me I had to start running — so I wouldn’t be fat.
I felt very ashamed of myself.
Not only did this mean I must look terribly ugly to everybody, but I had obviously disappointed my father. More than anything else, I wanted his approval — and I couldn’t ever seem to do enough. Or be enough.
Fetish for privatizing misses point; it’s having a choice that matters
You have to do your own thing, even when crowds don’t ‘get it’
As we encounter emotional truth, poisonous past can make us numb
Why does most love hurt us? Because one usually loves more
As you grow, learn to let go of things that no longer serve you
We’re happier if we learn to ‘sell’ ourselves to people who want us
What happens if a vampire bites your neck? Vampire mythology tells us the victim can become a vampire, too.
Hank Williams story reminds me I’ve always wanted to be a star
FRIDAY FUNNIES