Body Shaming

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.