In his case, I believe it’s genetic; he’s been heavy since a very young age, and didn’t slim down even when playing football twice a day. That’s something you can’t hide when you live with someone, nor would I want to.
But once we started dating, the kind of fat talk I’d regularly engaged in about myself, usually silently, wouldn’t cut it. When I feel like a failure about my body, that extends into other arenas, making me less enthusiastic about my writing, sure that, somehow, other people are making those same judgments.
Knowing that he’s dealt with actual discrimination because of his size has forced me to ask myself tough questions when I do worry about my weight: namely, what am I really worried about? It’s a vicious cycle, so living with someone who simply doesn’t let himself care about what other people think is a constant revelation.
My boyfriend doesn’t “care” about my weight in the sense of wanting me to be a certain size, but he does want me to be healthy.
If I suddenly gained 20 pounds in a month for no apparent reason, he would ask me about it, but not in a menacing, shaming way.