This is the second in a series of guest posts about being fat and female in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Please consider contributing your own post by emailing [email protected]. 

By guest author, Jen Morrison

This is the story of my big fat shame that I was never willing to voice, until now. I finished watering my garden, delighting in the plump peas on the vine and the newly opened squash blossoms with their golden promise of delicious meals in the future. I filled a hospital mug full of ice and water and sat in my recliner to scroll on my phone and quickly saw a blog post about being fat and a woman in LDS culture. It felt like my heart stopped beating. I have a story to tell. It rose within my throat like the sour taste of bile that forces its way up despite all attempts to swallow it down. I went to my computer and opened a document page and then quickly tried to find every other thing I should be doing instead. Pushing aside the avoidance I slipped on my glasses and instantly left my computer to grab a lens wipe, disappointed that there was one close by so I couldn’t avoid voicing my big fat shame any longer. 

I was born into and raised in the LDS church. There are so many experiences crashing through detour signs on neural pathways as I write this. Detour signs my own body constructed to block the flow of this specific traffic in my memory and in my heart. The earliest memory I have of my fatness within church is the day Willie, a kid in my primary class, saw the fat rolls on my 8 year old stomach move while I uncomfortably sat in a very small chair. I assure you, when you are over 100 pounds as a child it is very hard to “sit very still” in those chairs for hours, despite what the primary song says. He stopped the class to loudly exclaim “That’s DISGUSTING!” while pointing at my stomach. I dropped my head in big fat shame. I was anointed the fat girl. The one picked last in any primary activities and the last to have an open seat next to me as we sang “I’m Trying to Be Like Jesus” among other idealistic and unrecognizable claims. 

Being the fat girl in church hurt in ways that make it almost impossible to describe. At 11 my primary class teacher held a party at her house with a pool. It would be a fun day of swimming followed by pizza and watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles the movie. I’d always enjoyed swimming and had been on my neighborhood swim team until my belly grew large with big fat shame. The idea of being in my swimsuit in front of the primary class that regularly teased or if I was lucky, just excluded me sounded like torture. My parents really wanted me to attend and honestly TMNT rocks so I found myself there but dressed in regular school clothes. The water was tantalizing. Its flashes of light and splashes as my peers played were irresistible, especially on that hot day on the pool deck. I was desperate to find a way I could get in the pool without getting in a swimsuit. I decided to ask one of the girls to push me into the pool. She did and I broke through the surface as she yelled “She TOLD me to do it!” I couldn’t feel the coolness of the water due to the hot depths of my big fat shame. 

My Sunday School teacher who had been up until then a silent witness to my torment decided one Sunday to address the issue of fatness. He spoke about what a challenge it is to be fat. How hard it is to be fat. Then he said words that I can still hear in my head, so many decades later: “My wife struggles with weight. She really struggles with being fat.” Then he looked down sadly and in a tone that I’ve only heard people use to say the saddest, most dreadful news he said “My wife, my poor, poor wife.” The level of pity and grief in his voice shot through my heart. He sounded like death would be a relief for her. It felt like it would be a relief for me too. My big fat shame grew.

I was absolutely lucky to have the best Beehive leader (woman advisor for girls 12-13 years old). I could tell she genuinely cared about me. She put floral tea bags under her car seats so that it would smell good and my dad called her “eccentric” which made me like her even more. I glued myself to her, hungry for the acceptance her loving care offered. One day she talked to me about her business. She was selling a product called “The One Day Summertime Diet” and asked if I were interested. I’d honestly have done anything for her and hearing that she had something she thought I’d be interested in made me certain to ask my parents if they’d buy these tablets for me. The diet went like this, you’d eat only these chalky wafters in chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry for 1 full day, no food. The next day you’d have 3 regular meals. I begged my parents to buy it, they’d already taken me to a fancy Newport Beach doctor who had prescribed me with phen-phen so I felt confident they’d say yes, and they did. I started losing weight and to be perfectly honest I often skipped half or more of the wafers on the wafer day because they tasted chalky and made me feel weird. I’d beg my brother to take me to a gym and there, after eating no actual food, I’d workout on the equipment until my whole body shook and shivered, clammy and cold. And then one day I got sick. Really sick. This diet ended as cardiologists prescribed beta blockers and I went from doctor to doctor trying to find the source of my illness. My big fat shame grew right along with my pants size. 

I found myself being old enough to interview for a dance card (an interview with a bishop is required to make sure you’re worthy to go to an LDS dance). I got my dance card and having it came with pressure from my family to attend and make LDS friends. I’d get dropped off at the doors to church buildings practically every Saturday night, a weekly recurring nightmare. I’d walk through the church doors and follow the sounds of YMCA or early 90’s music to the cultural hall where sweaty teens scanned the crowd looking for familiar or at least friendly faces. I’d do my best to fit in but my body was in everyone’s way. I felt like a sea monster as fish swam around me, making ever wider circles around my girth. Sometimes, I’d ask a boy to dance and he’d say he was already going to dance with someone else. Sometimes another would say okay as their face showed absolute mortification. My big fat shame grew until my back was against the cold wall of the large room whenever a slow song came on and eventually for most songs until I finally stopped walking through the doors entirely. My big fat shame couldn’t fit through them. 

My life went on and my body continued to grow into the 219 pound high school senior who dreaded Young Women’s meetings One day my mom pulled me aside as I walked in the door. getting home after school and work. “The young women have an upcoming activity where you’ll all dress up in wedding gowns from sisters in the ward and discuss temple marriage and have a faux reception. The leaders called because they didn’t want you to worry about a dress. They think that Sister X (name withheld) has one that might fit you and you can try it on beforehand if you’d like.” I looked back at my mom in disgust at knowing the leaders had sized up every sister in the ward trying to decide who would have one big enough to fit me. I said I wasn’t going and yet still my big fat shame grew. 

Deep within me teachings and the treatment by ward members shook up my mental and physical health until I distanced myself from them as best as I could. In LDS culture your body is a manifestation of your righteousness and overeating is equated to “self abuse.” . The Lord says, “all things unto me are spiritual, and not at any time have I given unto you a law which was temporal” (D&C 29:34). You’ll find/hear many fat shaming remarks within LDS talks and articles about the word of wisdom which discusses the care of our “tabernacles” our earthly vessels that are “divine” gifts to us. The official teaching in D&C 88:15 states “the spirit and the body are the soul of man.” Not only that, but “Your body is not your own; it is on loan from God” (“Ye Are the Temple of God,” Ensign, Sept. 2001, 18). 

These teachings linking our physical bodies with our level of commitment to the Lord and His teachings create a large focus on appearance and becomes one of a few ways that saints judge each other’s level of righteousness. I’ve wondered if it’s because women have few positions of leadership and none in which there isn’t a priesthood holder as her steward, that there becomes such a focus on being the best looking and therefore the most outwardly reflection of righteousness. Or maybe I gleaned that from the many church talks by a Miss America role model and being gifted the Inside Outside Beauty book at church programs. Who knows. 

As a young mom I found myself in Relief Society sitting beside my own mother one Sunday. During the lesson a large platter holding fresh strawberries and small squares of chocolate were passed from row to row. We were instructed to take one, strawberry or chocolate. I picked up a square of chocolate and ate it. After the platter had made it through the room the teacher said we had just been given a test. Given a tempting treat would we choose the right option or the tempting one? Would we honor the gift of our bodies or abuse them? When you need to make a decision to follow the gospel or give in to pleasure, what would you choose? It didn’t matter that I had had fresh strawberries the night before. It didn’t matter that in weighing my options I saw the leaves on the strawberry and didn’t want to have to take a messy bite to avoid them or draw attention to myself by getting up to throw them away. None of that mattered. What mattered was I had chosen sin and everyone knew it. My big fat shame grew. 

The sad truth is even when being measured for my sacred temple garment my fat body received notice and comment. The sister measuring me wondered aloud how vastly different sized my upper body is from my lower. My big fat shame took on the monstrous grotesque shape of my body. Or so it felt. For the days leading up to my endowment and sealing I pleaded with the Lord in prayer, “Please let me feel beautiful on this day. Please let me see myself the way you would see me. Please let my “outward glow” show by my “goodness within.” It felt shameful to ask something so clearly vain and yet it was my heart’s honest desire after years of feeling and being treated like a monster. The day arrived and I went to the temple and changed into my oversized temple gown. I bought a size up so that nobody would see my shape underneath. I was escorted to the bride’s room after my endowment and in full temple regalia I stood in front of the full-length mirror before going into the sealing room. For the briefest of moments I saw myself and saw beauty. I smiled and somehow that broke the spell and shame crept back in. But I truly think I did experience one brief moment of feeling beautiful in an LDS setting and I still cherish it. A single brief moment in 36 years. 

Being LDS and fat in Southern California was painful but being LDS and fat in Utah was torture. Church lessons on sloth, gluttony, the Word of Wisdom, divinity, all of it had “fit mamas club members” and marathon members equating their physical appearance with their level of commitment to the Lord and those who were fat were “slothful servants.” When I read news articles that list Utah in the top 10 states “most obsessed with cosmetic surgery” or Salt Lake City having the second-highest number of plastic surgeons per capita in the USA I see those as results from the teachings like this from LDS Living: “In just one year, he had transformed not only his body but also his testimony. He had changed from an unhappy, unhealthy man into a confident, stronger son of God. Instead of playing the “fat friend,” he now relishes the roles of husband, father, brother, and friend. And when he feels himself slipping back into his old ways, he remembers that the power to change—and stay changed—comes from a higher source.” 

One of the last months I lived in Utah included a day that I went out to find a dress to wear to a wedding. After several stores without my size and what seemed like hours of seeing my big fat shame creep across mirrors I turned off my cell phone and drove to the cemetery. I laid on the ground next to the headstone of my older sister who had died at birth and cried. I pictured her at my age with a very small frame like my mother’s and my dad’s beautiful blue eyes. I thought about how unlucky it was for everyone that our places had not been switched. Eventually I turned my phone back on and went home and then back into therapy to tackle what my therapist called the “big boss.” I tried to appreciate the phrase but it always made me feel more monstrous because the “big boss” was me. 

Now lovingly surrounded by my Pacific Northwest tree friends, a strong secular family, and adoring pets, I’m much more free from my big fat shame. I see it sometimes in dreams and in memories that come when the detour signs along my neural pathways need maintenance. While I still occasionally get grocery cart checked, I’ve never had another experience like the one in Utah where I put the gallon of milk I was buying on the counter and was asked “would you like donuts with that?” from a smirking face that likely passed the sacrament the next day. Sometimes I play the devil’s advocate with myself and tell myself I should not and should never have let the doctrine I once believed and the treatment of others affect me. At the end of the day my 233 pound body grabs the water hose and marches forward to the garden. I shower the plants and will myself to accept my big fat body with the same love I feel towards the perfectly fat peas that bring me so much happiness.

As an avid nature lover, Jen can often be spotted on trails, at parks, or in her backyard admiring squirrels, birdwatching, and tending the garden. She was raised in Orange County California and graduated from the University of California, Irvine with a degree in Sociology. Jen and her family (including all 8 pets) moved from Utah to Washington in 2023 after spending a couple decades in Eagle Mountain, Utah. Jen is currently volunteering at a local library while looking for a new career.