Hi. I'm Jenifer. And I love to eat.
Crowd responds: Hi Jenifer.

I have struggled with obesity for most of my adult life. Both of my parents have struggled with being overweight. Both of my step-parents have struggled with it. My ex-husband struggled with it. My siblings have to fight it. Grandparents. Cousins. Aunts and uncles. It's in my family, and it's just a fact. I weighed in at well over 400 pounds at one point. (Happily that time has passed, but it was brutal.)

I know what it feels like to be slender and have people look at you in admiration. I also know what it's like to have people side-eye you like you're too awful to take in with a full gaze.

For clarity, my experience with being admired was before I got fat. Not since I've gotten smaller. I'm not nearly small enough to feel that kind of look again.

As a teenager, I was very girl-next-door cute. I was short with big blue eyes, blonde hair and curves for days. I remember being 16, eyeing myself in a size 6 bikini and sighing that I was fat.

Ha! I had no idea...

Ten years later I was avoiding the mirror in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans and whining that I was fat. I still had no idea...

Fifteen years after that... I finally got a clue. I was clocking in around 370 pounds (still not my heaviest), and I basically avoided ever looking at myself in the mirror below the neck.

It wasn’t shame, exactly. It was distance. Like I’d made some quiet truce with my reflection — as long as we didn’t look each other in the eye. As long as I didn't look myself in the eye.

And that worked in a way. For a while.

Until it didn't.

Because at some point, I started asking a different question. Not Why am I like this?
But Why are so many of us like this?

---

➕ A Nation of Plus

Let’s be real: obesity is common. In the U.S., it affects over 40% of adults. Add in those considered overweight but not “obese,” and we’re talking about the majority of the population.

This isn’t a personal failure. It’s a cultural pattern.

We live in a society that practically engineers weight gain:

• Fast food is often cheaper and more accessible than fresh ingredients
• Portion sizes are cartoonishly large by global standards
• Work schedules leave no time for meal planning, movement, or rest
• "Wellness" products are expensive, confusing, and often sold with shame as the motivator
• Marketing campaigns push hyper-processed snacks as comfort, reward, or self-care
• And sugar? It’s in everything — including things marketed as “healthy”

And then that same culture turns around and says:
How could you let this happen to yourself?

It hands you the tools of self-destruction, watches you use them, and then judges you for the results.

So yes. Willpower matters. So does personal responsibility.
But willpower without education, support, and realistic alternatives is a setup.
It’s asking people to win a fight with one hand tied behind their back — and then blaming them when they lose.

Because the truth is, this culture shovels self-destruction down your gullet, watches you choke it down, and then sneers.

It’s about living in a system where being fat is both the expected outcome and the unforgivable offense.

It’s not that willpower doesn’t matter.
It’s that we treat it like it should be enough — and then build a world where it’s constantly outmatched.

And part of that world?
It's food that’s designed to outcompete your instincts.

We’ve been trained — literally conditioned — to crave things that barely qualify as food:

• Oversalted
• Overgreasy
• Overprocessed
• Chemically tweaked to light up our taste buds and shut down our satiety

It’s not just that broccoli isn’t as fun as fries. (Although I absolutely believe that's true.)
It’s that your brain has been taught to see broccoli as punishment and fries as reward.

This isn’t accidental. It’s engineered. Hyperpalatable food is built in labs to override your natural signals — so you keep eating it. Keep buying it. Keep craving it.

And then society turns around and says, “Well, just eat healthier.”
As if you weren’t biologically outgunned from the start. After all, when's the last time you saw a commercial for kale?

---

🎭 The Performative Performance Review

I think it all really hit me the day my manager called me into her office to have a deep heart-to-heart about my "health."

She closed the door. Sat me down. Used that soft, serious tone people use when they’re about to deliver something they think is kind but is actually deeply offensive.

She said she was concerned about me. Worried about my energy level. About my future.

She said she wanted me to be around a long time.

And in the kindest voice, she told me that she thought I should really consider doing something about my weight.

As if my body was a medical liability. As if my size made me a ticking time bomb.

I wasn’t asking for help. I wasn’t sick. I wasn’t missing deadlines or failing to deliver.
I was just... fat. And she thought that gave her the right — and the duty — to bring it up.

She framed it like support. Like compassion.
But it wasn’t. It was fear wrapped in concern.
Bias wrapped in wellness.

Can you imagine if she'd pulled aside someone to talk kindly to them about their missing limb or diabetes?

What she was really saying was: “Your body makes me uncomfortable, and I need a professional excuse to address it.”

And you know what made it worse?

I didn't say anything. I just sat there nodding. Agreeing. Taking in it like it was helpful feedback instead of a gut punch.

Because some part of me — the same part this world had been shaping for years — thought she was right.

That’s what this kind of stigma does.
It doesn’t just exist around you. It moves in and takes up residence in your self-worth.
It teaches you to expect these conversations.
To feel grateful they didn’t come with outright cruelty.
To smile politely while someone suggests, gently, that your value as a person might be conditional.

I left that meeting feeling like I should apologize.
Not for being unhealthy. Not for needing help.
But for being visible.

---

🧩 Diversity and Inclusion for (Almost) Everyone

So I did what a lot of people do: I swallowed it. Just one more bite to force down, right?

I tried to move on. Focused on the work.

That wasn't the first time I'd been gently "encouraged" to be different. To be smaller. It was the first time someone had dared to do it in a professional setting. But what stuck with me was that it echoed something bigger. Something systemic.

I watched DEI programs expand. Slowly, then rapidly.

Conversations that once felt taboo started showing up in onboarding sessions, leadership trainings, mission statements.

I saw companies begin to acknowledge the ways race, gender, orientation, age, and ability shape people’s experiences in the workplace. I saw them roll out initiatives to support transgender employees, reevaluate hiring practices, and build pipelines for underrepresented groups.

And don’t get me wrong. That’s good. That’s progress.
Those efforts matter. They’re necessary. They’re long overdue.

But through all of that?

Not once have I seen a DEI initiative include weight.

Not once have I heard a training acknowledge that fat stigma exists in hiring.
Or that body size can impact promotion, leadership opportunities, or how seriously someone is taken in a meeting.
Not once have I heard someone say out loud that the “right cultural fit” often means “thin.”

Fat people are everywhere in the workforce.
We’re here, showing up, leading, building, delivering.
But when it comes to equity?

We're still invisible.

---

☠️ Fat Bias Is a Career Killer (and Still Not in Your DEI Training)

Even after companies adopt bigger, more inclusive DEI efforts, weight may remain invisible — yet its impact is measurable:

• A 2017 policy brief reported that overweight adults were 12 times more likely to report employment discrimination than thinner peers. And those with obesity reported discrimination at 37 times the rate (Source: Rudd Center Policy Brief).
• Research suggests that weight-based stigma — often triggered by stereotypes like laziness or lack of self-control — can result in workplace discrimination with similar impacts to racial or gender bias, especially for women. (Source: Rudd Center Policy Brief).

Think about that. It's as common as racial discrimination, but you've never heard it mentioned in a DEI initiative.

• According to SHRM’s 2023 study, about 50% of people managers say they favor interacting with employees of “healthy weight,” and roughly 12% of U.S. workers report having felt unfairly treated at work because of their weight. (Source: SHRM: New research details weight discrimination in the workplace).
• Weight stigma hits women hardest: a Michigan State study found women report workplace weight discrimination around 16× more than men, and women with obesity face a 6% wage penalty compared to their thinner peers — while men see a smaller decline (~1‑3%). (Sources: MSU study; Supporting data from weight bias reviews).

This is still happening today. This is not a fluke. It's a pattern.

• Estimates suggest obese women lose between 2.3% and 6.1% of wages, while obese men may see a 0.7%–3.4% dip annually—just for being fat, all other factors equal. (Source: NPR / Federal Reserve data).
• And discrimination persists beyond hiring — surveys show that about 54% of overweight workers and 43% of obese workers report stigma at work, including being the brunt of jokes, being excluded, or facing unfair treatment. (Source: WeightWatchers Business: Impact of weight stigma on employees).

Taken together, these stats show how bias isn’t hypothetical. It’s a measurable, ongoing structural barrier. When DEI ignores an identity that affects a large portion of the population, the gap between appearance and inclusion widens. And careers suffer in the silence.

---

🪞 Beauty Is a Rigged Game

So being fat can. hurt your career. Let’s not pretend this issue is just about health.

Because it’s not.

It’s also about beauty. About who’s allowed to be seen, admired, celebrated. And who’s told to shrink themselves out of sight.

From an early age, we’re bombarded with one narrow vision of attractiveness: thin, toned, symmetrical, young. We're shown Barbie dolls and super models and the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition like it's the only thing we should ever strive for.

Anything outside of that — fat, aging, disabled, or just human — is treated like a flaw to fix or hide.

These standards aren’t just unrealistic. They’re manufactured. Fashion magazines, movie casting, social media filters, celebrity trainers, weight loss endorsements... it’s a billion-dollar industry built on the idea that your body is a problem. And they’ve got the solution.

No wonder we internalize it. No wonder we think we should feel ashamed. That we should be trying harder. That we don’t deserve admiration, visibility, kindness, or love until we meet the quota for thinness. That if we don't match that idea of perfect, then maybe we shouldn't be seen at all.

But here's the thing: that finish line keeps moving. Even thin people feel like they’re not thin enough. Even models face criticism and retouching. And even if you do manage to be thin enough, you will likely have some other feature that's not the social ideal of beauty.

It's not about being healthy.
It's about being palatable.

And that’s not your failing.
That’s the system working exactly as designed.

We blame individuals for what is, at least in part, a system-wide setup. And then, when those individuals try to fight back? We make it harder still.

---

🍕 You Can’t Quit Food

For those of us who struggle the most, it goes beyond willpower. It becomes addiction. I opened this blog post with a framing we're all familiar with from TV, movies, or maybe meetings. We have fully supported systems to help people deal with drug and alcohol addictions, gambling addiction, sex addiction. You don't see many meetings for Eaters Anonymous, but food addiction is real.

If I were addicted to alcohol, I could go sober. If I were addicted to pills, I could cut them off entirely. But food? You still have to eat. Every single day, you have to face food. The only way to go cold turkey on food is to make a sandwich the day after Thanksgiving. (It's a Dad joke. So sue me.)

Food addiction often gets dismissed or mocked. People think you’re just greedy, not “really” addicted. I mean, how do you get addicted to something everyone has every day? But any addict will tell you that addiction isn't just physical. Neither is hunger. It’s emotional, psychological, and socially reinforced (celebrations, comfort, reward). Just say no isn't an option, and you're constantly surrounded by temptation.

Imagine an alcoholic being told to take three sips of whiskey a day. No more. That’s what eating with food addiction can feel like.

In addition, for many people (both obese and not obese), their first coping mechanism, developed in childhood, for dealing with stress or emotional pain is food. We even call it "comfort food." Carbs release endorphins and serotonin into your system, triggering pleasure and happiness. Most refined carbs (sugars, white flours) cause even stronger spikes, and it all makes you feel better. For a little while, anyway.

And yet, despite all of this — despite the biochemical triggers, emotional wiring, and constant exposure — we still treat people like they should just “try harder.” As if knowing broccoli is good for you makes it taste better than fries. As if willpower alone can rewrite decades of conditioning and cultural sabotage.

---

⋘⋙ Too Much or Not Enough

Fat people are often the biggest personalities in the room. Not because we’re naturally louder, funnier, bolder, or more charismatic, but because we’ve learned we have to be. If we’re not more, we risk being ignored entirely.

Or worse, openly disdained.

We become entertainers, caretakers, overachievers. Anything to compensate. Anything to say:
“I know I’m taking up space. Let me earn it.”

It can even be an internal message we give ourselves to feel better. We tell ourselves, "It's okay that I take up this much space. I'm funny, so I'm allowed!" But it’s exhausting, always trying to be the funniest person in the room just to be invited to stay.

You see it in media, too. Think Melissa McCarthy in her earlier roles — always the outrageous, over-the-top sidekick. You laugh with her so you aren't laughing at her.
Don’t get me wrong: she’s hilarious and insanely talented. If anyone was ever going to play me in the story of my life, she'd be my first choice! But the roles? They rarely gave her the nuance or depth of her thinner co-stars. Her job was to steal scenes, not to carry them. At least not until she started doing it on her own terms.

That’s the deal fat people often get: be entertaining enough that people forget you don’t “fit.”

And for those who don’t — or can’t — play that larger-than-my-ass role? The pressure doesn’t go away. It just flips.
Instead of being too much, we try to be invisible. Hide the laugh. Quiet the voice. Minimize the footprint. Because if we can’t hide our bodies, maybe we can hide everything else.

If people don't really see who we are on the inside, it doesn't hurt as much when they reject what we show on the outside.

This is what shame does. It turns presence into performance — or silence.

---

🤞 The Fat Best Friend

There’s a reason you almost never see fat people as the romantic lead in a movie or TV show. We’re sidekicks. Comic relief. The sassy friend. The coworker who eats all the snacks and makes self-deprecating jokes. We’re a punchline before we’re a person.

We’ve seen this play out a hundred different ways:

• The funny fat girl who talks big but never gets the guy.
• The supportive best friend who’s always there to cheer on the pretty lead (or the hot boy star).
• The lovable loser whose story arc exists to make the audience feel better about their own lives.
• The redemption story of the fat person who made good and got thin. Then, and only then, do they get the happy ending.

And if a fat character does get a love story, it’s usually:

• A setup for humiliation,
• A miracle because someone saw past their size,
• Or part of a larger “look how much they’ve changed” narrative — read: weight loss.

Think of how often someone like Melissa McCarthy was cast not just to be funny, but to look funny. Her body was part of the gag. (She’s since pushed back hard against that and carved out more space, but she had to fight for it. And she's Melissa freaking McCarthy.)

It’s rare to see a fat character who:

• Has romantic agency without it being a joke,
• Is allowed to be sexy without apology,
• Or isn’t constantly trying to shrink themselves — literally or emotionally.

Even shows that aim to be inclusive often stumble here. You might get diversity in race, gender, or sexuality before you ever see someone fat given a real, full, complex role. Because weight is still one of the last “acceptable” prejudices in casting — and one of the first shortcuts for making a character pathetic, funny, or unworthy.

And when that’s all we see reflected? It’s not hard to start believing it. Even about ourselves.

---

🪤 The Workplace Wellness Trap

At one job, they handed out pedometers and formed walking groups. At another, they put up flyers about the dangers of fast food and handed out “simple-to-make low-carb recipe tips” in the breakroom. Most places just send out cheerful wellness newsletters once a month, always signed by someone who has never worn plus sizes in their life.

None of it is malicious. But none of it is particularly helpful either.

Corporate wellness programs love to talk about health, but what they really mean — especially when they’re looking at you — is weight. Not sleep hygiene. Not stress levels. Not chronic pain or mental health or burnout. Just: are you fat? And if so, what are you doing about it?

Wellness initiatives are supposed to show that your employer cares about you. That they’re “investing in your health.” But what I saw was this: We got Fitbits, but not fair workloads. We got sugar warnings, but not better food in the vending machines. We got points for walking meetings, but no time to leave our desks.

That’s not wellness. It’s optics.

And if you’re fat, it never really feels like it’s for you. It feels like a spotlight, like someone’s watching to see if you’re trying to get thinner. Like you're being singled out for some kind of public humilitation. Or worse — waiting to use your weight as a reason to exclude you from promotions, leadership, or anything that puts you in front of clients.

Because if you’re not thin, you'd better be inspiring. You'd better be a success story in progress. You better be “on a journey.”

You can be fat in the workplace, sure. As long as you’re working on not being fat.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying we should all be fat. I’m not saying being fat is a good thing. I’m saying it’s a real thing. A common thing. And it’s one of the only visible traits still openly mocked, judged, and excluded — even by people and systems that claim to value inclusion.

We’ve made incredible strides in workplace equity for race, gender identity, sexual orientation, neurodiversity, and more. But somehow, body size is still the punchline. Still the elephant in the room — pun fully intended and painfully true.

You don’t have to celebrate obesity to stop punishing it. You just have to acknowledge that fat people exist, and they matter. And they deserve to be part of your DEI initiatives. Not in spite of their size, but including it.

---

⚖️ The Weight of It All

The fact is, fat people don't need anyone else giving them a hard time. They're probably hurting enough all on their own.

It’s hard to be fat. Not just emotionally — physically. You carry it every second of every day. Your knees ache when you stand too long. Your lower back protests if you sit too long. You can’t catch a full breath walking up a flight of stairs, even if your mind insists you’re not out of shape enough to warrant that kind of struggle. But your body disagrees. Loudly.

You sweat in places people don’t think about. Your skin breaks down in folds and creases, leaving behind rashes, yeast infections, and a quiet kind of shame no one ever taught you how to talk about.

You can’t sleep well, and maybe you snore so loudly that partners drift away. If you have them at all...

Or maybe you’ve been diagnosed with sleep apnea and now sleep tethered to a machine. You've read the articles about how untreated apnea increases your risk for heart problems, stroke, even dementia. And you wonder how much damage is already done.

You try to love yourself. You really do. But when every piece of clothing is a compromise between “what fits” and “what doesn’t make me hate myself,” it gets harder. Changing rooms feel like courtrooms. You stand on trial before a mirror that never lies, and the verdict is always the same: not good enough.

And maybe the worst part? You know people think you did this to yourself. That it’s all just laziness. That if you really cared, you’d have "fixed it" by now. You live with that story pressed into your skin, even when you know it’s not the whole truth.

---

🪄 What Would Help? (Besides a Magical Weight Loss Wand)

If we're going to talk honestly about how hard it is to live in a fat body, we have to talk just as honestly about what might actually help. Not just personal help — though that matters — but systemic, cultural, practical help. The kind that doesn’t start and end with “Have you tried eating less and moving more?”

We need education, not shame. Actual, accessible, science-based education about nutrition, about portion control, about how our brains respond to sugar and fat and salt like they’re survival cues. And not just in some abstract wellness seminar once a year. Integrated, real-world support, starting early and sticking around into adulthood.

We need alternatives. Healthier food that’s not only available, but affordable and convenient. Because it’s hard to choose a $12 salad when there’s a $4 burger combo calling your name and your paycheck barely stretches as it is. We say we want a healthier society. Then we subsidize corn syrup and fast food instead of produce and access.

We need insurance that covers real options. Nutrition counseling. Sustainable weight loss programs. Mental health support to help untangle food from trauma. And when someone does lose weight? Coverage for skin removal surgery. Because living with twenty pounds of loose skin isn’t a “cosmetic” issue. It’s a quality of life issue.

We need to stop treating fatness like a moral failing. It's not a character flaw. It’s often a combination of genetics, psychology, habit, environment, and — yes — sometimes willpower. But willpower doesn’t grow in a vacuum. It needs scaffolding. It needs support. It needs to be met halfway by a world that isn’t actively making it harder.

And most of all, we need compassion. And acceptance. From our doctors, from our workplaces, from our friends and families. And from ourselves.

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🌎 Real-World Options

Here are some actionable workplace ideas that support size inclusion and reduce stigma — without turning it into an awkward or performative DEI checkbox:

strong>1. Normalize Size-Inclusive Ergonomics