Why as a slim woman, I always have to tread on eggshells around my overweight friends

The holiday in Tenerife had been wonderfully relaxing. Not least because we had stayed in an all-inclusive hotel, which meant any request for food or drink was just a polite gesture away.

No wonder, then, that after a week of high-calorie cocktails, served with more bowls of nuts and chips, I returned home a few unwanted pounds heavier.

Hardly worth holding the front page for. Yet it’s the kind of annoying detail that as women we often share with our best friends. After all, isn’t empathy for even the most insignificant concerns one of the greatest joys of female friendship?

But as I caught up with an old school friend in a cafe shortly after my trip, I found myself deliberately censoring this detail from our conversation. Why? Because whether we like it or not, size matters, and my boyfriend is significantly overweight.

How on earth could I whine about gaining a few pounds when I can still fit into my size ten jeans? Especially since she has been fighting the flab for years. Any complaint about my own weight would certainly sound smug, insincere and extremely annoying.

In fact, I find myself routinely walking and talking on eggshells when I’m with her, making sure to avoid any topic that might highlight the disparity in our sizes.

I don’t show her pictures of the flowing dress I’m hoping to buy for a special occasion, as I might do with other slimmer friends. When we go out to eat, I pretend to be full when I really want dessert, because she’s always trying something – anything – to lose weight.

Not that she is the only one who unconsciously provokes this judicious calorie-free behavior in me.

There are others – friends, colleagues – that I tread carefully around because I know they too are struggling to lose serious amounts of weight. Yes, it’s tiring, but what else should I do?

Understandably, there will be many on the other side of the fence who say their situation is much worse: they have to watch slim women who seem immune to weight gain devour countless chocolates and then slip into flowing dresses.

And admittedly, editing what I say or eat is entirely self-imposed. Not to mention a tad unfair, as one particularly smart friend pointed out.

We were having lunch together when this friend, struggling with yet another unfeasible diet, ordered a miserable salad with no dressing. I felt compelled to do the same – even though I was craving a baked potato topped with grated cheese after a busy morning at work.

Maybe she heard the growl of my stomach or saw the unenthusiastic look on my face when our lunch arrived.

Anyway, she wrestled the fork out of my hand and said, “Ange, for God’s sake, just order what you want.” I know what you’re up to, but it won’t help. I am overweight. Deal with it. I know I do.”

She then said that while she appreciated my attempts at sensitivity, it upset her even more when she thought I couldn’t be myself around her. Furthermore, she felt patronized and belittled when friends went out of their way to avoid anything that acknowledged an inequality between waistlines.

I was embarrassed and stunned that my immensely wise, magnanimous, and, yes, fat boyfriend had seen through my bad, do-gooder routine. From that moment on, I vowed to only act naturally and be true to myself and my waistline.

That was a few years ago and I’ve fallen off that wagon ever since.

I just think it’s mean – and uncomfortable – to behave differently. But why? Especially because I’m a journalist whose work life revolves around asking tough questions and confronting thorny issues.

And it’s not my fault if willpower or a complex, even addictive relationship with food makes it nearly impossible for some to grab just one cookie from the tin. It’s also not my fault if, thanks to good genes and an inability to sit still, I’ve never had a weight problem. So what’s going on?

I must emphasize that my approach has nothing to do with the prevailing woke culture that insists we lather hard truths with mild soap or take offense at a blade of grass.

Health education about obesity should be unrelenting anyway; endorsing it as an acceptable life choice is not only foolish, but frankly dangerous.

But when it comes to face-to-face interactions with someone who is clearly overweight, I find myself cautiously doing whatever I can to avoid drawing attention to my own slimmer frame. Not because, heaven forbid, I’m complacent, but precisely because I’m not.

It happened recently when a well-proportioned acquaintance came to talk to me at a wedding reception. Her opening gambit was a compliment on the outfit I was wearing and how flattering it was for my figure.

‘How do you stay so slim? I could never wear something like that,” she commented as her eyes trailed over the tulle dress that tied neatly around my waist. Instead of enjoying the compliment, I did what I always did and tried to brush it off for fear of making her feel bad about herself.

I just think it’s mean – and uncomfortable – to behave differently. But why? Especially because I’m a journalist whose work life revolves around asking tough questions and confronting thorny issues

‘This substance is so itchy it should have a health warning on it!’ I said. “Don’t worry about the dress, these shoes are killing me!” And then quickly changed the subject.

Unfortunately, this dilemma has only become more common as I’ve gotten older.

As a woman in my 50s, I constantly meet others who talk about struggling with unwanted weight due to hormonal and metabolic changes brought on by menopause.

It’s a topic that gets a lot of attention (sorry), as this stage of life has become a prevalent topic of conversation due to the relentless celebrity endorsement.

Personally, I was lucky that I managed to avoid my weight gain during ‘the change’ and weighed perhaps only half a stone more than I did thirty years ago.

However, it’s not all a matter of luck. I power walk, cycle and swim to keep the pounds off.

I put as much energy into staying fit as I do into avoiding the size issue among my overweight friends. Yes, talking about summer sandals instead of swimsuits is an avoidance tactic.

When it comes to size, I admit I’m a huge coward.