Know better, then do better.
My husband got to come home unexpectedly this weekend. We had a lovely visit and he should get to come home again the middle of next week for a few days. Yay!
We went to the grocery store together yesterday morning, and we were in line behind a fat man doing his shopping. It’s hard not to look at what people buy when you’re piling your stuff on the little belt behind their stuff, but I’m pretty good at making no judgments about groceries. Grocery purchases say nothing, after all. The week I’m buying only lettuce and fruit might not mean I’m Super Nutrition Girl that week; it might mean I’m planning on thinking outside the bun for seven straight nights.
My husband, though, was apparently wearing his judge-y britches and they must have been riding high. As we were walking to the car, he commented that he didn’t think that guy ahead of us needed the Twix he was purchasing.
I just looked at him. I then looked at the sack he was carrying from the in-store McDonald’s that was filled with his hotcakes, sausage, and hashbrowns.
I then broke it down for him thusly: First, FAT WIFE STANDING RIGHT HERE. Second, that Twix? No one, fat or thin, needs a Twix. It’s not full of vitameatavegaminy goodness. It’s candy. Fat people should get to enjoy candy, too, and also? That might have been the first Twix that guy had bought in 10 years. Or it might have been the 10th Twix he was eating that day. But happily, until that guy asks us to pay for his Twix, we don’t actually have to care. I then pointed out that, if my husband were fat instead of skinny with a hummingbird’s metabolism, someone might point at the bag o’ pancakes he was carrying as the reason for his fatness, and that it’s hardly fair that he is judging someone else for eating the exact damn stuff he eats every single day. An inefficient metabolism does not grant moral authority.
Because he’s not an idiot, he said I was right and that he wasn’t intending to be a jackhole, but acknowledges that he was.
My husband is a smart guy. He’s got an advanced degree, he’s trained in critical thinking, and he’s, at heart, a good, kind, decent person. And you would think the 6 years he’s had a front-row seat for my disordered weight-control behavior would have at least demonstrated that fat is about so much more than food.
But that kind of thinking, it just goes so deep, you know.
And that’s why we have to keep disagreeing with it, especially with those who should know better.
Thanks for this. It’s taken me years to stop worrying about what other people (like the person scanning my groceries behind the counter, let alone someone behind me in line) thought of the food I was buying. Your post brought back painful memories, and reminded me that people *do* judge.
As I’ve just decided to eat intuitively and buy/eat whatever I feel like, I have to adress this mental problem. But yes, you’re right, it’s no one’s business except my own, and I’ll keep your excellent remark in mind:
“But happily, until that guy asks us to pay for his Twix, we don’t actually have to care.”
Yes, empowering! From now on, anyone who glares, can expect to get that stare right back from me: I’m buying, my money, f**k off!
That’s what makes me so sad & hopeless with this “war on obesity” - anti-obesity hysteria.
That it can make a “smart, decent, kind, good, critical-thinking” person think like that.
Ugh, this is something I struggle with whenever I want to buy what I like at the store. I always worry who will be judging me. I always end up in front of/behind someone who is full-on healthy eating with no snacks to be seen. Then I feel bad. Same goes with fast food if I want to eat it (which is pretty rarely, but it happens). Usually I worry so much about what the cashier is going to think of me buying this food I obviously should not be eating. Now that I’m trying to eat intuitively, I have to start getting over this irrational fear. It’s difficult, though.
Glad your husband was able to come to visit you! That’s great news. Mine is still not home, but should be arriving later today. It’s not set in stone, but I’m still holding out hope.