I was called ‘anorexic’ when I was skinny – but I'm still being body-shamed after putting on weight

I was called ‘anorexic’ when I was skinny – but I'm still being body-shamed after putting on weight As a child, Jillian Lim was told to eat more. As a teenager, people assumed she was anorexic. Now that she has finally gained weight in her mid-30s, she has had to defend her body all over again. She reflects on a lifetime of having her body scrutinised. For as long as I can remember, I have been hounded to “eat more” and “finish all your food”. The type of food didn’t matter – I was offered chips, doughnuts and fried food to help me put on weight. “Ow, you’re so pokey, you bag of bones,” my mother would exclaim when I sat on her lap as a child. In primary school, I was placed on the “milk programme” in my school. Every recess, underweight children like me would meet at the assigned canteen table, be handed a packet of milk to drink before we were allowed to buy food. But the milk made me too full to eat after. In Primary Six, I was 1.56m tall and weighed 37.5kg. I was given vitamins to increase my appetite and even went to the doctor for a stool test to check if I needed to be dewormed (parasitic worms can cause poor eating). Our family doctor concluded there was nothing wrong with me. His advice: “Just eat more.” So, I did. During the school holidays, I ate every four hours – McDonald’s Big Macs were my go-to, mainly because of the fast food chain’s S$5 meal promotion. Nutrition was not the goal – weight gain was. ENCOUNTERING THE MALE GAZE AS A TEENAGER Moving to secondary school, the male gaze was now upon me. The cousin closest in age to me was a boy, so I inherited his group of friends as well. They would say things like: “Jill, whatever you do, don’t turn sideways or we won’t be able to see you!” “Quick, lie down, that plane looks like it needs to land.” In Secondary Three, my body mass index (BMI) was 16.2 – I was underweight. While other girls were gaining womanly curves, I became the butt of flat-chested jokes. I was a sprinter on the track and field team and that improved my appetite a little. I would wolf down double portions of chicken rice and have countless peanut butter sandwiches in between meals. At night, my trips to the fridge would be met with my dad saying: “Eating again? Where is it all going?” I also started drinking weight-gain protein shakes three times a day. This went on for months and I recall my mother quipping: “I thought my days of buying you formula were over!” By the end of secondary school, I finally hit 40kg – and my limit at being called anorexic. This was the mid-90s and the beauty standard was being wafer-thin. The It girls at the time were Calista Flockhart, Gwyneth Paltrow and Paris Hilton. Weight loss supplements and slimming centres were all the rage. Every other teen drama had a character who was anorexic or bulimic. Losing weight was the social norm and striving to be thin was in. Interestingly, the majority of comments made about my body came from adult women – my friends’ mothers. In the same breath as calling me anorexic, they would plead with their daughter not to order fast food when we went out. The mums were constantly taking note of what and how much I ate. I remember one mum taking my wrist and shaking it: “Are you sure you’re not bulimic? How can you eat so much and be so skinny? Don’t teach these things to my daughter, ah!” I bumped into the same woman when I was 21, where she commented: “Still anorexic, I see.” Being bullied by adults this way didn’t bother me much – I guess it was because my own friends never commented about my weight or eating habits. It was more an annoyance having to constantly repeat to the grown-ups that I didn’t have an eating disorder. I can’t imagine any of this being acceptable today. Last I checked, “skinny” had become an unacceptable word and people are told not to comment on bodies altogether. BATTLING TO PUT ON WEIGHT Putting on weight continued to be an uphill battle in my adulthood. I did manage to get up to 43kg at one point and was told I looked great – I got “upgraded” from “skinny” to “slim”. After my first daughter was born, I gained about 5kg from the pregnancy and I finally looked “meatier”. Everyone told me: “You look better now!”, “You look so healthy now!” But I was hardly living a balanced lifestyle. I didn’t exercise until a year after giving birth, where I did Pilates thrice a week. But I would frequently reward myself after that with a happy hour beer. With my second child, my weight after giving birth was 50kg. But caring for two young children aged three and under one while breastfeeding and working sent it down to a scary 43kg. I knew I looked eerily skinny. “You’re not eating again?” “You’d better eat.” “Your focus shouldn’t be on losing weight now”. But I was eating a lot. Breastfeeding left me constantly famished. Oatmeal bowls and peanut butter sandwiches returned to fill the gaps between meals. I couldn’t afford to go to the gym as I was spending a ridiculous amount of money on food deliveries. FINALLY PUTTING ON WEIGHT Things changed after I got retrenched. I enrolled in night classes to get my degree and managed to find a job immediately. This led to the most sedentary period of my life. Sitting at a desk all day, grabbing fast food for dinner and sitting another three hours in class. On weekends, I went overboard with the mantra “treat yourself” and over-indulged in cocktails, beer and food. It’s been 18 months, and I am now 57kg. In my mid-30s, I’ve finally put on weight. And like when I was thin, the comments have been fast and furious. Everything from, “Woah, what happened to you? You ate your baby or what?” to armchair diagnosis like, “Maybe it’s a thyroid problem, that’s why you’ve gained so much weight.” Last I checked, my BMI was 23.2, which is within the healthy range of 18-24.9. My visceral fat is also within the healthy range, and my doctor pronounced me healthy after a full health screening last year. And yet, my weight and body shape continue to be a talking point. People were bothered when I was underweight. And now that I’ve gained weight, they are still bothered – even though I am healthy. What’s draining is constantly having to defend my body. From, “No, I’m not anorexic; I don’t exercise excessively” to “No, I’m not overweight; yes, I do try to work out”. I wonder what makes people feel so uncomfortable about my weight gain. Did I give them some kind of hope that after pregnancy your body can return to what it was? Was that hope dashed when I ‘let myself go’? Or am I proof of the inevitable change that happens to women when they get older? It’s similar to the comments about how American pop star Rihanna’s face shape changed after having children, and how childbirth “ruined” her looks. There are, of course, a handful of noble warriors: “You look fine! Everyone puts on weight when they get older, and you’re a mother of two. Your body gave you life! You should be proud!” As well-intentioned as they are, I know my body – and who said I’m not proud of it? The over-justification of how my body has changed just isn’t necessary. Perhaps, if my weight gain had mostly gone to my hips and thighs instead of my midsection and face, the comments would be more positive. But where does it end? Truthfully, I don’t think words like “fat” or “skinny” deserve the power we give them. My daughters watch the way women speak about bodies, and I don’t want them growing up believing one label is praise while the other is shame. I also don’t ever want them to feel they have to explain their appearance to people. Although the comments and assumptions I’ve encountered my whole life didn’t affect my self-esteem, I can’t say my daughters would have the same flippant attitude as I did. CNA Women is a section on CNA Lifestyle that seeks to inform, empower and inspire the modern woman. If you have women-related news, issues and ideas to share with us, email CNAWomen [at] mediacorp.com.sg.