I remember going on my first diet in 5th grade. Somewhere along the lines, I heard that bread made you fat, so I planned on not eating it ever again. Then I would be skinny and have a better body, like the girls I was seeing at my new middle school. We had to change into gym clothes in the girls’ locker room, where I saw these same girls so confident to strip down in front of everyone put on their cute, coordinated gym clothes. Their calves were smaller than mine, their stomachs flatter, and their olive skin tones made my fair, freckled skin stand out even more. I knew right away that I had to start making some changes, so I could look more like those girls. I was 10.
And so began a lifetime career of trying to look like anyone but myself. I tried to eat healthier and eat less. It usually just turned into restriction, aka: starvation. Usually only for a few days because that’s as long as I could last. The cycle of crash dieting began. The negative self talk. The food guilt. The comparisons. For the next 20 years, I was a hamster on a wheel, and I can’t remember one time in those 20 years where I was actually happy with my body.
Then I got pregnant with my daughter in my early 30’s. When I found out that I was having a girl, I immediately vowed to myself that I would do everything in my power to prevent her from hating her body as much as I hated my own. For me, this meant I would set some “rules” for myself, and for my household on how we approached our body image. I’m certainly no expert, and my loose set of “rules” is all mine… right or wrong.
Trying to avoid negative self talk about our bodies. We don’t use the F word in our house. No, not that F word. That one probably gets used more than it should though. The word I’m referring to is FAT. This specific word has haunted me for as long as I can remember. It was the ultimate diss (do our kids even know what a diss is?). So in our house, I’ve pretty much banned the word. Not because I don’t think she will ever hear it somewhere else and that her precious ears (and heart) will never be the target of this word. But I definitely don’t want her to hear her mom and dad talking about their bodies like that. I know there are far worse things than being fat, but it’s just a particularly ugly word to me.
Eat until your belly is full. Growing up in my house, it was a big accomplishment to be a “clean plater.” It was encouraged to eat everything on our plates. And seriously, I get the reason behind it. I despise wasting food. And for the love of God, don’t we all just want these kids to EAT? I don’t know if it’s related or not, but I never discovered my “off” switch when it came to eating. I didn’t eat until I was full, I usually ate (and still do sometimes) until I was stuffed. It was and still is a major source of comfort for me. So we encourage our daughter to eat until her belly is full. Even if it means she’s only eating less than half of her plate. My refrigerator is always packed with leftovers, but it kind of makes my life easier at mealtime.
I encourage healthy food, but I don’t throw shade at the junk either. My goal is to show her that all food is ok to eat. She doesn’t need to know any more than that right now. When she’s older and playing sports, or takes interest in what goes into her body for the sole purpose of fueling it, then we can go into more detail. But she’s 3, and she doesn’t need to worry about that right now. It is up to ME to feed her well-rounded meals.
Lastly, I always remind her that God made everyBODY differently. One body isn’t better than another; they’re just all good in their own way. I reiterate how smart, funny, and kind she is in an effort to keep her from believing that “pretty or cute” is the most important quality about her.
Oh, and an update on my 10-year-old self: I’m 35, almost 7 months pregnant, and went to the pool all summer without feeling badly about my body one time. I felt that was important for my daughter to see. But it was also liberating. I don’t want it to take my daughter 35 years to feel ok in her own skin.
