A New Culture

I grew up hating my body and thinking I was fat. Part of that had to do with the fact that I was tall- much taller than all of the girls and the boys my age. That is, at least, until I reached high school. Then at least some of the girls were taller than me, though most were still skinnier. Part of it, too, had to do with the fact that my mom always complained about her body.

For those of you who know my mom, you know that she is quite skinny, and always has been. She is tall, but has small bones. She isn't a muscle machine fitness guru, and she has some natural life scars... Pregnancy, for example, left her with the normal extra skin around her midsection that she often complains about. Genetically, too, our family tends to carry weight there, and so that was her normal area of attack when she complained. However, overall she is very fit, very strong, she exercises regularly and eats well, and she is generally a fabulous woman with a fabulous body.

As a young girl who didn't know any better, I believed her when she said that she was fat. This, naturally, skewed my perception of myself. Because I was fatter and bigger than all my little friends, and my mom was either the same size as or skinnier than her friends, I felt even worse about my body.

Quick anecdote that I have to laugh over a little bit now: When I was quite young, my very best friend in the whole world was a very smart, very athletic, very short and petite and beautiful girl. Why she was friends with me I'm still not entirely sure. Anyway, I used to complain to her that I was fat. She very nicely said that I was not fat... I was only chubby. I was grateful to her and for a long time thought of myself as chubby.

During my teenage years, I came to realize that most girls think of themselves as fat. This was always difficult for me to hear. "How can you say you are fat as you stand there looking in the mirror at yourself in your skinny clothes when I am sitting over here and obviously bigger than you? If you, who are so beautiful, are fat, then what on earth am I? I must be truly horrendous to behold!" Of course, as I matured I began to understand that this attitude is ingrained by a culture of skinny-obsessed models, actresses, gyms, weight-loss programs, and clothing sizes.

Now, I am not fat. I have too much fat on my body, I admit. And, according to the BMI scale, I am obese. Anyone who looks at me can see that I am not obese. I have need of more exercise and less sugar in my diet. I am working on that. I also have need of a chest-reduction surgery. Perhaps that will come. In the meantime, I have specific plans in place and in effect that are helping me to have the best body I can.

But the point of this post is this: Cara deserves better. She deserves better thoughts of herself, better thoughts of her mother, and better thoughts of others. She deserves a culture that is more interested in moving her body for the simple joy of moving, in eating healthy food because it tastes good, and in looking in the mirror without disgust every day for the image reflected back to her.

As her mother, the best thing I can think to do is to make this pledge:

I will do my very best to like my body for what it is. I will try to enjoy and take care of my body. I will not speak unkindly of my looks, or of hers, or of anyone else's. I will learn to participate in and enjoy exercise and to incorporate it regularly into my life. I will learn to cook and eat vegetables, fruits, whole grains, and meats in good proportions and in a timely manner. I will learn to be happy in this lifestyle and to enjoy not only the benefits but also the process of having a healthy body and a healthy outlook on wellness.

Perhaps I can help her to cultivate healthy attitudes where I developed unhealthy ones.

P.S. I do not mean to demean my Mom in this post. She is wonderful, and part of her bodily concern has helped her to stay fit and trim over the years. I wish I could have the strength that she does.