Melissa

The other evening while Herself was out walking, a mother and child passed by in the other direction on the path. The mother was pushing the little girl's bicycle, and the little girl was skipping and scurrying alongside on her stout little legs. The girl's plump belly jiggled and stretched her thin T-shirt.  She had dark, slightly curly hair.  Herself was reminded of Melissa.
----
Eons ago, when Herself was a young, scrawny little girl -- no more than six or so, and perhaps even younger, she thinks, though it's hard to place the moments so far back in time -- she was acquaintances with a girl named Melissa.  Melissa was a raven-haired girl with very round cheeks, impossibly long eyelashes and chocolate-brown eyes.  One weekend, Melissa's parents arranged with Herself's parents to have Herself attend a family party and sleep over.  Exciting!  Herself was rarely graced with playdates, and this was an unheard-of adventure, to stay the night at someone else's house.

Melissa had a large, ethnic family.  There was much food and laughter.  Melissa's relatives doted upon all the children present, including Herself, who was surprised and pleased by so much warm consideration from strangers.

When the evening grew late, Melissa and Herself got ready for bed and went down into the kitchen to say goodnight to the Grandmother.  Grandmother clucked at Herself:  "So skinny! So small!  Here, you must have a piece of cake.  Not you, Melissa, you're already too fat. You don't want to get even bigger."

Grandmother sat Herself on her knee and held a plate with that delicious cake close to Herself's face, encouraging her to eat it, while Melissa stood nearby in her footed pajamas, her dark eyes huge and blinking, silent. Herself felt an uncomfortable mixture of warmth from the unexpected attention, embarrassment, and guilt.  She ate the cake.
----
We wonder what went through Melissa's mind all those years ago. Was she angry at Grandmother for shaming her in front of a peer, or at her diminutive peer for being somehow preferentially thinner?  Or at her own self, her own body, for its apparently unacceptable shape? Did she internalize Grandmother's thinly veiled pronouncement that a fat person is unworthy of loving attention?

Does Melissa ever now think of that minuscule moment when her own flesh and blood chastised her for her size and withheld every child's special-event dream-food -- party cake -- from her?  Was it a tiny incident soon forgotten, or was it the first (or second or third) in a series of happenstances that forever linked food and body size with approval and love for her? Does she have issues with food today?

Herself, who (like so many women) does struggle with food, explains:

We are in charge of hearth and home, and especially of nourishment.  We feed our infants, our families, our loved ones:  that is how we show we care.  When we feel stressed, we turn to food again; that is how we attempt to care for ourselves. Food is our solace and our comfort.  It momentarily quiets our anger or hurt or loneliness or worry.  And though we know that eating is a damaging way to silence our inner turmoil -- we are well aware of how it impacts our weight, our health, our feelings of self-image and self-worth -- sometimes we do not know how else to fill the void.

For all the Melissas, here are our messages to you:

Let us eat cake, if we wish, without a thought to others' opinions.
Let us find better ways to care for ourselves when we need to do so.
And most of all, let us forgive ourselves for what we see as our shortcomings and our failings.  What is done is done, what is eaten is eaten. Each day is a new day to do things differently, to love ourselves differently.  We may stumble and fall, but we will pick ourselves up, and move forward. Together.

This lovely cake was found at http://www.theansweriscake.com/baking-advice/10-best-chocolate-birthday-cakes/.