I have a new story for you all, but before we get into it, I just wanted to share two things.
1. Trigger warning for disordered eating, fatphobia, and body image issues.
2. Whatever body you’re in, you are dearly, fiercely, and ferociously loved. I hope you feel that today. đ
Now for the story…
Everyone dressed the same but in different colors. The bright neons, earthy browns, and sophisticated blues served to show personality, but the bodysuit was the same.
Thick fabric, fitted perfectly to your frame, protecting from the heat and sun and sand of the planet.
She drew in a breath and let out part of it, feeling the flex of her own deep purple suit. It fit. Right now, anyway.
If she breathed just right. Since sheâd skipped breakfast. Only if she had a small snack for lunch.
But no matter how much she tried, it wouldnât fit this evening. It wouldnât fit at least one week out of every month, and sometimes on other days too.
She smoothed the slick fabric and joined the line to the learning pod.
Everyone her age had gotten a new suit at the beginning of high school, and most hadnât changed since. A few wanted different colors as they found new aspects of their personality. Another had been injured and needed special accommodations. Another had the newest experimental model and everyoneâs eyes on her.
She let her eyes skim the line of peers, just slow enough to take in what she saw but not slow enough to weird anyone out.
Everyone was long, straight lines, smooth suits with no wrinkles or puckers.
Except for her.
The moment she got home that evening, she slipped out of her suit and let out a heavy sigh of relief. It was hard work keeping in her breath, standing just right, trying to blend in.
To keep everyone from seeing what was so wrong with her body.
She put on a comfortable house-robe and stepped out to the kitchen where Mom was serving up dinner. Inwardly, she groaned. Spaghetti and meatballsâher favorite.
And with her gnawing hunger and no discomfort from the suit, she knew she would eat as much as she wanted to. There was no stopping it.
She lay in bed that night, feeling her sides, imagining that when she laid on her back some of her disappeared. Her stomach definitely seemed flatter.
The second she rolled over, unfortunately quite comfortably, her stomach was round again and she knew tomorrow would be a struggle to get her suit on again.
She sighed and sat up, then pulled her phone off the charger and typed into the search engine, âpeople who donât fit into bodysuitsâ. She couldnât be the only one.
A list of people came up with the headline âThese Bodies Donât Suitâ. She opened it, but dinner stirred guiltily in her stomach.
There were plenty of people that looked like her, but the article and the rest of the internet seemed to think there shouldnât be. How hard was it to keep it all tight, exercise enough, eat ânormalâ amounts, everyone asked.
Another article said that these people, especially one of them, encouraged children to be unhealthy and not try to change themselves.
Tears were slipping down her cheeks as she copied the name of the woman, the worst âvillainâ of them all, and pasted it into the search box.
A woman, much larger than the others sheâd seen, smiled at her from behind a microphone. The singerâs gorgeous pink bodysuit fell in ripples and curves around her body, and she clicked on the video to watch. The woman began to dance, moving freely and confidently, and her smile seemed to light up the room.
And her breathing! The singer had nothing to hide, so she pulled in and let out every breath with fearless power.
She looked down at herself. It was time for a new suit. One that fit her. Maybe a pink one.
She could be free.
Once Upon An Ordinary 