I Was Made Fat By My Parents Or Family
My family has never been fat-positive. They never really hammered into us that we needed to be thin, but healthy eating and excersize was always highly valued. To this day, a fear of alienating and disappointing my parents is one of the primary reasons why I do not intentionally gain, but I do like to imagine what my life would have been like had I been born into a fat-positive family. Specifically, a family where gaining weight is sincerely encouraged…
One obvious difference would be in my parents. They’re both average weight now, but in this alternate version, they’d both be at least three hundred pounds when I was born. Throughout my infancy, I would be fed at all times: any time I cried, they’d offer me food, and keep giving it to me until I stopped eating it. I would never, EVER be denied food.
In my childhood, Me and my sister would both be told to clear our plates at every meal. The plates, however, would be very large, and there would be four or five meals a day. Every meal is a serious affair, with multiple courses and generous servings. We’d grow to love food so much that we’d want third and fourth helpings each time. The pantry would always be stocked with snack foods, and any time I or my sister wanted to eat anything, we would be free to.
We would have both been tremendously fat children. By the time I was five, I was a hundred pounds, and it doubled by the time I was seven. At age ten I was three hundred pounds, and so hugely fat that my spherical belly touched my knees. By then, I’d be pretty much resigned to very limited physical activity, which would be fine by me, since eating was all I really cared about anyway.
By the age of thirteen, I was five hundred pounds, and almost entirely immobile. My parents kept feeding me and my sister almost all day long, and I was averaging about a five pound gain every week.
My sedentary lifestyle and obsession with devouring everything my parents gladly put in front of me caused me to swell to gargantuan proportions in my teen years. By my sixteenth birthday I am an almost unrecognizable mass of fat, more than a thousand pounds and constantly growing, gaining a pound a day!
My gain continued endlessly. My doting, fat-loving parents kept pushing me to eat and eat, always striving to gain faster and faster. At a pound a day, I’d be two and a half tons by now, and nowhere close to stopping.
One obvious difference would be in my parents. They’re both average weight now, but in this alternate version, they’d both be at least three hundred pounds when I was born. Throughout my infancy, I would be fed at all times: any time I cried, they’d offer me food, and keep giving it to me until I stopped eating it. I would never, EVER be denied food.
In my childhood, Me and my sister would both be told to clear our plates at every meal. The plates, however, would be very large, and there would be four or five meals a day. Every meal is a serious affair, with multiple courses and generous servings. We’d grow to love food so much that we’d want third and fourth helpings each time. The pantry would always be stocked with snack foods, and any time I or my sister wanted to eat anything, we would be free to.
We would have both been tremendously fat children. By the time I was five, I was a hundred pounds, and it doubled by the time I was seven. At age ten I was three hundred pounds, and so hugely fat that my spherical belly touched my knees. By then, I’d be pretty much resigned to very limited physical activity, which would be fine by me, since eating was all I really cared about anyway.
By the age of thirteen, I was five hundred pounds, and almost entirely immobile. My parents kept feeding me and my sister almost all day long, and I was averaging about a five pound gain every week.
My sedentary lifestyle and obsession with devouring everything my parents gladly put in front of me caused me to swell to gargantuan proportions in my teen years. By my sixteenth birthday I am an almost unrecognizable mass of fat, more than a thousand pounds and constantly growing, gaining a pound a day!
My gain continued endlessly. My doting, fat-loving parents kept pushing me to eat and eat, always striving to gain faster and faster. At a pound a day, I’d be two and a half tons by now, and nowhere close to stopping.
