It’s one of those cliches we all hear when we are kids: “Life’s not fair.” As a child, I fully admit that I did not grasp why adults said this. There were PLENTY of unfair things happening to me that needed to be addressed! Then, as a teacher of teenagers for over 20 years, I have found myself dealing with an entitled kid every now and then. The ones who especially grate on me are the ones who are not happy with a B, and feel I should give them extra work, take the test again, or change my grading methods so they can have an A. In these situations, this kid doesn’t actually think they deserve the B; they don’t actually feel they have more to learn.  They want an A because they identify themselves as an “A student,” and the B makes them feel bad about themselves. Instead of looking within for how they could have done better, they always place the onus of change onto an external factor. In this case, I–the teacher–was that external factor. See, it’s MY fault the kid didn’t get an A. It’s not FAIR that this one situation didn’t go their way. As an adult, I often struggle to explain to these “A student” types that it’s not reasonable to expect life to always go as you expect and that there is really no such thing as “fair.” 

My child once told me when she was in kindergarten and I was complaining about something, “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit, Mommy.” I looked at her and made a Marge Simpson noise in the back of my throat. It’s not the most attractive quality of mine, but I will admit that I was one of those A student kids who got personally offended when things didn’t go my way.  That feeling of entitlement doesn’t just apply to grades. It spreads out over everything in life. When I have worked hard to accomplish something, and I don’t get the result I want, my inner child stomps her foot and balls up her fists in anger: “NOT FAIR!” I could go into a lot of areas of my life where I see this, but today I want to talk specifically about my body and how damned unfair it is that I have the one I have. 

First of all, I didn’t ASK to be born into this damn thing. How is it that I am still putting up with crap construction that is not even something I designed or chose? Maybe if I had bought it on sale, all these imperfections would be more tolerable. But no; these genes are all sad hand-me-downs, carelessly and RANDOMLY left to me by my parents and ancestors. It’s like when someone dies, leaving a house full of decades of accumulated stuff for their relatives to sort through. So rude. So thoughtless. 

I hear “positivity people” say all the time that our bodies are gifts from God, that they are blessings: we are lucky to be alive. We should honor our body and thank it for carrying our souls around like a fragile Faberge egg wrapped in cotton fluff. Well, I say that if God loved me he would have given me a butt. I mean did God truly intend for me to sit through hours of teacher staff meetings on little blue hard-plastic disks they consider seats on cafeteria tables with absolutely no cushioning? If God loved me, he would have given me more melanin, so I would not have to waste my time and money on daily applications of sunscreen so I don’t get cancer. If God loved me, my nails would be strong and not peel off every time I open a can of LaCroix. And if God loved me, he certainly wouldn’t have given me stretchy tendons and a spine that is complete trash. I won’t even talk about God’s insult where migraines are concerned. And speaking of butts, did God think it was funny to take what should have been my butt and put on my abdomen?! I see him up there in the clouds just pointing and laughing at me when I’m in the dressing room trying on jeans. I mean, it can’t just be a random act of creation. It seems, somehow, cruelly intentional.

I mean, I suppose I could be appreciative of my naturally curly hair and my well-formed ankles. I guess it wasn’t bad not having acne growing up. Oh, and making it to age 53 without any cavities wasn’t the worst thing. And I did inherit a sharp sense of humor and the ability to craft words and do deep analysis. I guess maybe my good hand-eye coordination has been of some use. I dunno. 

Now let’s get to my real beef with God, the real reason I’m talking right now. Where the Creator has stiffed me the worst is in the department of food. I was given a discerning palate and the skills to cook. I live in an era of plenty, where I can get almost any ingredient or sample the cuisines of the entire globe. I have the privilege to afford almost any morsel my heart desires, and I really enjoy eating. It makes me happy.  However, eating those tasty things can pretty much kill me. 

I was gifted by my ancestors a condition called PCOS, which made me fat as soon as I hit puberty. This is related to being female, which is a WHOLE ‘NOTHER LEVEL of insult from You Know Who. I’ve been on a diet since I was 11 years old.  I’ve had insulin resistance most of my life, which has reached a tipping point where I am on the verge of becoming diabetic. To put it simply, I’ve used up almost all my natural insulin. Diet and exercise are like putting a finger in a dam: It works to slow weight gain but there’s really nothing that can put an end to the problem of my body composition and metabolism. My entire life, I have had one refrain in my head and heart about this condition: “It’s not fair.” 

Despite knowing in my head that no one really deserves anything they are born with, that kid in me still gets overwhelmed at times with sadness and feelings of injustice when faced with facts: that I have to deny myself things I want and can have just because I was born with this particular body. 

Two years ago, I was feeling really uncomfortable in my body. Everything hurt and I could barely walk to my car without getting out of breath. I read that this new pandemic, which was still overseas, seemed to be targeting people who were older, especially ones who were diabetic and obese. Something in me clicked, and I finally turned toward the one diet I had always avoided: low carb. There was no reason for avoiding it other than it would be so damn hard to not eat all my favorite things again: popcorn, biscuits, sushi, etc. And you know what? It worked. Over the course of a year, I lost 50 pounds and my overall health improved in more ways to mention. Finally!

Did I mention earlier that life isn’t fair? Because it isn’t. After a year of steady progress, it all ground to a halt. I stayed on my diet, and I went to the gym. I researched how to break a stall. I experimented and tweaked my eating plan. I started intermittent fasting and joined some reddit groups. I worked HARD, DAMNIT! The other day, I looked at my weight loss chart on my phone, and I saw that I weigh exactly what I did a year ago. All that work. No pounds lost. The only thing I have to show for 12 months of effort was a big fat nothing. 

Then the truly awful truth hit me. I am going to have to work that hard from now on just to NOT GAIN. Tears came to my eyes as I realized I may never reach my goal, no matter how hard I work. The sadness settled in the following weeks as I nibbled on a french fry here and a pizza crust there. The little entitled girl in me keeps saying, “What difference does it make if you’re just going to be fat forever anyway? It’s not fair that you can’t have donuts with your family on Saturday mornings.”

This insult was then followed up (naturally) by injury. I got a herniated disc (Thanks again for the garbage skeleton, Ancestors!) and have had limited mobility the last few weeks. ANY weight I put on my shoulder causes pain, whether it be a purse or a backpack. It occurred to me pretty quickly that would count for body weight as well. If I want to not become an invalid, I have got to keep the weight off. So I am back to that old diet motivator: fear. Tried and true. The A student in me is putting the onus of change for my health onto an external factor, just like my students do with me. 

Wouldn’t it be great if we could travel in time and speak to our future wiser selves? (There’s no reason to speak to your past self. You wouldn’t listen.) Or maybe peek in on those ancestors and see what motivated them to keep going in times when things didn’t seem fair. I’m sure any of my bloodline who lived through America’s founding and wars could give me an earful about what’s fair. I am 100% positive my grandmother Jill would echo kindergarten Chandler about getting what you get and not throwing a fit. She truly loathed entitled people, but she made an exception for her first grandchild. 

No. It’s not my ancestors’ responsibility to tell me how to live. I know this, of course. And it’s not God’s job to give me everything I want in life. But if I could make one request, ask for one thing of God, it would be this: I would ask for inner peace, contentment. I know life can’t be free from struggle and disappointment because then it would be boring.  However, I sure wish I could handle it better.