Body Shaming . . . a
term I hear and read about a lot. It definitely has its place in current
discussions about self-image, beauty, and how our bodies are perceived. Some
believe it's a newer occurrence, but it's not. It's always been around: the
idea of how we should look and the shaming that we receive or give to ourselves
if we don't live up to a current ideal.
I remember my first
moment where I learned to see my body as less than perfect. I was lying on the
couch and staring at my legs. I was about eleven or twelve. I was at the age of
becoming more aware of myself and my body. My mom walked by and I told her "I
have such pretty legs!" She promptly informed me that I did not, they were
fat. I was on Slim-Fast within 48 hours. It was the first time I realized that
I was something less than beautiful. Now, disclaimer: I do not hate my mom for
this or even believe she was attempting to be cruel. She just also had her own
body image issues and had a standard of perfection in mind. I didn't live up to
it. She was speaking from her own self-image, not mine. I have only just
recently realized this.
But as a young girl on
the brink of becoming a teenage girl and all the massive changes that happen
during that time, the seed was planted and I never figured out how to un-plant
it. And even if I wanted to, I don't know if I could have. I was
indoctrinated on what was beautiful (thin, blonde) and what was not (me) from
that moment on. It never occurred to me that those perceptions could be wrong
and beauty wasn't one-size-fits-all.
But no matter where
that comment led me, this isn't a rant about how I was victimized and led down
a road of hurting my body to become better. This is about how I am now the
mother of four teenage daughters and I am even more aware of how destructive it
can be when we shame our bodies or are shamed by others. I am guilty of this. I
am guilty of offering rebuttals to my daughters compliments.
"You look so
pretty today, Mom"
"Ugh, no! Fat! I
need to lose weight."
The fact is, in those
moments, I am being incredibly selfish. I am not considering their own body
image issues or how they are still learning to see the world through my words
and actions. But how do you stop something that is so ingrained into your
thought process? When it's such a focus every . . . single . . . day!?
It's the subtle body
sweeps with the eyes that women give to each other. It's the conversations over
lunch about new diets, stretch marks, workouts, who has gained weight, who has
lost weight.
And the last part:
that's the hardest. I was a fat kid. There is no way around it. I was a young
girl in a lot of pain and food was my drug. And it was also the belief of
feeling invincible to calories and knowing one day, the baby fat would just
melt away.
Until the baby fat was
also covered in grown-up fat. And the comments came.
"You'd be so
pretty if you lost some weight."
"Are you sure you
want another cookie?"
"Here, I bought
you black. It's slimming."
And then you lose
weight and the comments still come. Subtle reminders of what is preferred and
what is unacceptable.
"You look amazing
. . . NOW!"
"I never wanted
to tell you, but yeah, you were fat. I'm glad you did something about it."
"Damn, I always
knew there was a pretty girl hidden behind that body."
And this isn't also a
rant to be okay with being overweight. I know my family history. I know my own
history. Excess weight is unhealthy for me. I don't want diabetes, cancer,
joint/muscle problems. I want to be healthy and strong.
But how do you figure
out the healthy balance between becoming healthy and living up to ideals?
I lost weight before.
A lot of weight. I told myself I did it to be healthy. I did it to feel strong.
I did it because I was approaching 30 and wanted to feel young.
I lied.
I did it to spite an
ex-husband who told me I was embarrassing to be seen with.
I did it to finally,
finally! make my Mom proud of me.
I did it to quiet the
sales person at the store who let me know that they didn't carry my size. Or if
they did have my size, it was just a gesture. The clothing wasn't meant to
actually be worn by someone who is a size 16.
I did it to stop
feeling invisible.
And I achieved those
goals.
My ex-husband told me
I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But it was too late.
My mom couldn't stop
bragging about how I looked. But it was too late.
The sales people at
those same stores were on a first name basis with me and loved showing me the
newest clothes that had come in. But it was too late.
Because no matter what
I heard, I still saw myself through their eyes and had no idea how to see myself,
with clarity.
But I still kept
working to reach more goals. A size 8 had to become a size 6. A friend made a
remark about my belly. So a size 6 had to become a 4. I started working for a
weight loss company and it was suggested to lose more. So I became a size
2.
And then I was too
thin. I was bony. I lost my curves. I needed to eat.
I learned harshly that
body shaming happens on both sides of the dinner table. Those who are hiding in
the bedroom, with a bottle of water trying to ignore the smell of dinner and
the gnawing in the tummy, begging for food are no less immune to being made to
feel less than than those who are at the table, eating "too
much".
I have four daughters
who look up to me, who listen to my words and intently watch how I navigate
life. And I know fully well that no matter how much I love them, in this area,
I'm failing them. Even if I never say a word, I'm failing them. Because they
see me as I tug on my clothes and feel uncomfortable. They see me staring at
the mirror trying to really see myself and silently judging what is reflected
back to me. They see me on the scale or with a tape measure and hear the loud,
frustrated sighs.
And I don't want to
fail them in this area. I want them to have a healthy self-image. Because I
have finally realized that people who see themselves in a healthy way take care
of themselves. It's not about what size they are or what the scale says. It's
about how they feel. It's how they revere their bodies, not damage it.
And with my recent weight
gain, I am once again a pre-teen, sitting at a table, drinking Slim Fast, who
no longer sees her body as strong and beautiful, but something to hate.
Something to torture. Something to be molded into something worth loving or
something to be ignored.
And all I know right
now is that no matter how often I tell my girls that they are beautiful, as
they watch me fight to fit into a size whatever-is-considered-perfect-now, I'm
also teaching them that one-size-doesn't-fit-all and there is unacceptable and
acceptable in regards to appearance.
And as a mother, that
is the worst parenting fail ever.