Mother and daughter, via Pomegranates @ Flickr.
When I was nine or ten, I brought my class picture home to my mother and asked, “Who do you think is the prettiest?” “You!” she replied. “I think Maura’s the prettiest. She’s prettier than me.” Mom would have none of that, and assured me that Maura had nothing on me. I’ve never considered myself pretty, but my mom has always given well-timed compliments and I know she thinks her daughter is beautiful. I’m certain she did not consciously try to instill positive body image in me, but I’m thankful she’s never done anything to harm it.
That’s why comment threads like this inspire such sadness and anger in me. That so many women have parents who’ve torn them down and even bribed them to lose weight or otherwise alter their appearances is tragic. Parents are supposed to be a soft cushion for their children, not the source of body hatred and rejection based on looks.
My mother’s love hasn’t stopped me from despising my appearance. I dislike the way I look because, well, I’m not attractive.* Last summer, when my mom and I went swimsuit shopping, she eagerly waited outside the fitting room, encouraging me to show her the styles I tried on. In the mirror, I saw a pale whale unfit for public view, but mom beamed and excitedly advised me to go with the blue one. Even if I can’t accept what I see in the mirror, it’s good to know my mom does.
What’s more, my parents didn’t tear other people down by disparaging their looks. People’s outsides were just not a factor in their worth as human beings. I know mom has some insecurities. I will never forget the time she cried on the way home from church because some jerk had scribbled “Crater face [our last name]” on a paper she’d found. She has acne scars on her face, but has never worn makeup or gotten wrapped up in beauty rituals besides coloring her hair. Nor has she ever pressured me to wear makeup (though I do).
I can’t remember my father ever commenting on my appearance, except to say “That looks nice!” when I’d model new school clothes or prepare for formals. He has certainly never insulted me or used scare tactics (“you’ll never get a man!”) to get me to slim down my waist or my nose. Both parents have warned that I better not have that extra cookie if I didn’t want to gain weight, but that’s because I’ve been known to complain about my fat whilst devouring heaps of rich desserts.
I do have a slightly fucked-up relationship with food. I see my grandma – my dad’s mother – in myself sometimes. She’d whine about being heavy whilst baking one of her delectable chocolate-chocolate-chip cakes. And she wasn’t merely self-critical. Once I hit puberty I dreaded the inevitable inspections she’d perform when we’d visit. “Oh, you gained some weight in your backside?” “No, grandma.” “Come inside and have a bowl of ice cream.” Sigh.
So not everyone in my family was sensitive or tactful. In fact, my younger brother tortured me throughout our childhood, calling me “BigSarah” and “thunder thighs.” I was a normal sized kid who tracked her leg circumference with a tape measure. Little brothers are known life-ruiners but it did hurt me that my parents never reprimanded him for taunting me like that, or for pretending he was experiencing an earthquake when I’d walk down the stairs. They knew he did it but their advice was to ignore it. The lesson he learned was that his behavior was OK.
Evidently, I have reached adulthood not completely unscarred. But I have had it pretty damn good. I wish everyone could think of their parents as safe havens from a superficial, judgemental world. My parents love me for who I am; my apperance is less than secondary to them. Now and then I’m reminded I may be in the minority.
*Only half serious.
Thank you for this. It is so on target for how things should be.
I would never blame my mother for my eating disorder but she certainly did not (and does not) help me feel good about my body. I remember being 16 and bemoaning my stomach fat. Instead of her telling me I looked fine (I didn’t feel it at the time, but objective photos prove that I was tiny) she recommended I do sit-ups and try the treadmill. And she is entirely wrapped up in those beauty rituals you talk about — she still harasses me to color my hair, wear makeup, and choose contacts over glasses. I think most of it is just displaced self-hatred in her case. One reason why I was happy about having a son was that I worried if I had a daughter I would transfer my negative body image on to her.
Guess I’m in the minority too. For the most part, I think my parents did a great a job emphasizing that my worth wasn’t found in my looks, but in who I was, how I treated others, my brain, etc. I had a terribly gawky and insecure adolescence, especially since my adorable dancer younger sister was always on the homecoming court, but my mom always called me “her swan.” Beyond nagging me about my horrible posture (which, really, it’s terrible, but in my defense, I have scoliosis), she never put me down for my appearance. I started wearing makeup when I asked if I could, and she took me to the Clinique counter and told the girl to give me stuff my dad wouldn’t be able to notice on my face. I still don’t wear much makeup, though I like to play with it.
Now and then her own insecurities about weight crop up in our now-both-adults conversations. When I moved far away from home two years ago, I lost a bit of weight from the stress. She came to visit me and was complimenting me on my thinness at the beach, even though at that point I was at an unhealthy weight. I think she’s just bought into the cultural standard that thin=pretty, even though it wasn’t a particularly healthy time for me. Still, I don’t really hate my body or my face, so I guess they mostly did alright.
It sort of amazes me, knowing now how many parents do the exact opposite, how my parents (and family) instilled a positive body-image in me. The only things my mother ever commented on were things that she knew were bothering me anyway and wanted to help–I was self-conscious about my skin throughout junior high and I think she suffered along with me, but she never made me feel ugly. Quite the contrary.
I want to believe that the way these parents treat their children comes from a genuine, if misplaced and poorly expressed, concern. Little kids are cruel, and if a mother or father fears that their child’s weight or skin or hair or clothes will invite criticism or mockery, some might just be taking a step to protect their child. But they’re taking the wrong step.
My mom told me a story once about how my dad told my sister she was “the prettiest little girl in the sandbox” and she almost smacked him and made him promise never to say anything good or bad about our looks again. Sometimes she would tell us we looked “nice” if we on some occasion decided to groom ourselves, wash our hair, comb it, wear ironed clothes, etc. but it was never about our sort of indigenous looks. However I don’t know how effective it is in the end, because I (the average looking one of the sisters) have never had any insecurity about my body or looks while my sister (who is genuinely traffic stoppingly stunning and has modeled) has been tortured with self loathing her whole life. I think it has to do with encounters with peers and other issues that aren’t directly about body image. But I’m still grateful to my parents for being conscious of it. I was also horrified by the stories in that thread.
Khrushchev – My mother did the same thing, taking me to the dermatologist and letting me stay home from school on really awful skin days. She really wanted to protect me from how hurtful kids could be.
I know she did her very best but sometimes she can be a little insensitive about my weight, although compared to the commenters on that thread she’s a saint. It doesn’t help that she’s always been tiny and petite and her daughters got our father’s stocky Scandinavian genes. When your kid gains weight just by LOOKING at a piece of cheese maybe you should stop serving fondue every Friday.
My parents were never really into telling me anything about my looks. I was actually real skinny and cute as a child – had platinum blonde ringlets until age 5, and didn’t start gaining weight until I was 13 or so. (I have a hugely fast metabolism, actually, I just eat too much because food is good and it is my personal addictive behaviour.) What scarred me was other kids. I mean, I still remember that idiot kid Colin in 9th grade who, my “friend” told me, told an entire class his greatest fear was seeing me in shorts.
I’m with you on the other kids thing, PS. I had forgotten until now that I didn’t wear shorts for YEARS, until college, really, because in Jr. High some boy named Drew called me “knobby knees” and another named Matt nicknamed me “Ally McBeal.”
My mom projected a ton of her own anxieties on to me – if I looked good and put together, she felt it reflected well on her. We used to fight about my hair (I was 10, I demanded a mushroom cut and refused to style it. I was 10), my “double-chins,” the inch of tummy that sometimes showed when I wore t-shirts.
When the kids at school made fun of me for being fat (and they were horrible – they used to sing the Jenny Craig theme song at me, and point at the crossbar of the swings when I was swinging, she never told me they were wrong or mean, but suggested we go to aerobics classes together. Even my dad would point out when I was “getting a double chin” and they’d both look askance at me if I reached for too many helpings at dinner.
She’s always on a new diet or lifestyle overhaul and sometimes when she picks me up from the bus station the first thing she does is tell me what and how she’s eating these days. I wrestled with “food anxiety” in college but managed to avoid a fullblown eating disorder (I think because I just freaking love food so much)
When she drove me to college for the first time we actually talked about the way she’d shaped my body image, and she was shocked. “But you were always beautiful! You were never fat.” Pictures from the period show a perfectly regular sized girl. But I was miserable.
Parental judgment sucks. Feeling like the two people who are supposed to love you more than everyone else does see you just like everyone else does sucks. My mom’s defense was that she wanted me to know how to dress and carry myself – that it was her job to teach me about that. I still think she could have taught me about “playing the game” without buying into what society was selling me.
My mom was like yours, Sarah. She always made me feel okay about myself, even when I was a young geekling with big coke-bottle glasses and a bowlcut. MomSharper was always a classic girl-next-door Betty Draper beauty and I think she felt she’d always been praised for her looks rather than her intelligence, so she tried to strike the right balance with me.
My father’s mother, on the other hand, was an acid-tongued former model who used to walk around waving her cigarette and commenting unkindly on people’s weight, haircut, sense of style, etc. I’m deeply grateful she didn’t raise me–her three daughters all have major body insecurity issues.
@Kruschev: I do think some of the bad parenting is misplaced/mishandled concern. Some of it, though, is plain old mean-ness. I always thought my grandma fell into that category. The mean-ness I really find unforgiveable.
I had to stop reading that thread after the first page, it was so sad. My parents were also really supportive growing up, and let me tell you I was a monster teenager. Of course I still struggled for years with self-esteem issues anyway. I really do think sometimes certain problems are genetic almost? like depression and anxiety.
@PSoul: The worst things ever said to me about my appearance were said by boys. Girls could be catty and cut you out of their lunch table, but no girl ever taped money to my locker with a note telling me to buy myself some Clearasil.
OH! another upsetting Jez thread in the last week or so was that one about the study where people are really uglier than they think or something? and everyone left comment after comment about, uglier than I think! wow, that is UGLY.
@Khrushie, funnyface: Yup. I still don’t wear shorts. I’m almost 30 fucking years old.
Khrushchev, boys were totally the meanest. Once in middle school a total stranger came up to me at a football game and out of nowhere said, “You’re so fucking ugly.” WTF? Was I going around taking a poll? I was also harassed by boys for not shaving my legs and underarms “early enough,” not wearing a bra when they thought I “should,” etc. I got shit from girls for that too but not nearly as bad as the constant daily harassment from boys.
That is why I hate it when people say they hope they only have boys, oh girls are so difficult and boys are so much better. It is simply NOT TRUE, and most women who’ve ever experienced girlhood should know that.
I don’t remember being picked on by any particular boys for my looks, but as early as 4th grade, the boys made lists of all the girls’ names and ranked us according to hotness on a 1-10 scale.
@Kruschev, JDRegent: Man, y’all are bringing back bad junior high memories. In 8th grade a boy I hated snatched my teeny little triangle bra out of my gym bag and ran around our science class, waving it, yelling “Look how tiny Becky’s tits are!” (as if they couldn’t tell this merely by eyeballing my chest)
[shudder]
Sarah yes, from a very early age I had the sense that boys treated us as if our looks were for them, as if it were some kind of personal offense if our looks were not pleasing to them. I’m sure they are just figuring out their gender roles too and learning from each other and big brothers and fathers and stuff, but it’s pretty terrifying to feel…consumable so early. No wonder I NEVER had male friends growing up. Or, um, now. Maybe one or two, but mainly because of my husband I think.
You know, I think you guys are right about the boys being the mean ones. We always hear about “mean girls” but that really was not my experience. It was boys who called me “walking toothpick” and suggested that I must read the dictionary in my spare time, and it was a boy who made a comment about my “child birthing hips.” Maybe I just didn’t hang out with mean girls (I hung out with nerdy band kids, for the most part), but in my public high school, all the girls in my grade all sat at one lunch table that spanned the length of the cafeteria, not because we had to, but because we all just sat together.
I agree, SarahMC. You don’t have to have an unsupportive parent to feel the effects of body hate. My parents were supportive with compliments, but their actions belied their words. Especially my mother, who battled her weight my whole life. I never knew my mother *not* to be on a diet. When my mother would grab at her own flesh and wish for it to disappear, or tell me to be grateful that I had a small waist, the anxiety set it in. What would happen if my waist grew bigger one day? What would my worth be then? Would I hate my body the way my mother did? How could I live with myself if I was fleshy.
I had an eating disorder in high school. We went on a class trip to NYC, and I was sitting in a really nice restaurant with my friends, surrounded by delicious food. And I was sitting there, eating rice cakes. My friends were laughing and enjoying themselves, and I remember thinking, “This is your life. What are you doing?” I got better after that, but it was a slow journey. Not everyone is so lucky to have a sort of self-intervention like I did. Much in the same way an unsupportive parent can cut you down, I think a really supportive partner who makes you feel sexual and desirable can help. I started accepting my body more once my husband (then boyfriend) did. It’s sad it had to be that way, but I’m here now and I’m not going back.
My parents were sorta like yours, JDR–compliments on how I looked were pretty neutral: “you look nice today,” or “that is a good color on you.” I certainly could have had it far worse, but I always felt like they said that stuff because it was all they could say. That “you’re pretty” or whatever just wasn’t true.
It’s hard to win, I guess.
@SarahMC: I hate those comments because it sounds like some parents believe that these are qualities inherent to gender, whereas really, the way your children behave and view themselves and the people around them is based partly on your parenting. Boys are just as bad as girls in terms of cruelty, and I’d argue that they are worse when it comes to appearances, just because they can be. None of the boys who made fun of me were particular lookers or anything, but I never fought back because I got the sense that what I’d say would just bounce off them. Which is probably incorrect, but that was the sense I had.
@Becky: They were monsters. Just writing down that thing about the Clearasil (which was done to me by the boy I had a crush on in 7th grade, thanks buddy!) made me remember a bunch of other things said to me by boys about my skin. One wrote in my yearbook in 6th or 7th grade something like, “Have a good summer, hope your skin clears up.” I need to stop thinking about this, probably.
Kids suck. But once people HAVE kids of their own they need to leave their grade-school mentalities behind, and treat their children like people rather than beauty pageant contestants.
I don’t particularly care if a mom or dad has his or her own body issues. You do NOT project that onto your kids. You are an adult; be mindful.
@Krushchev: Boys SUCKED back then. Although my gay best buddy used to exact a certain amount of revenge in high school by telling me who had bacne or weird body hair or a tiny dick, based on his locker-room observations. I could trot out that info at the appropriate moment.
@Pilgrim Soul – I didn’t wear shorts for years except in gym class. Then I went through my very first feminist rebellion and quit shaving my legs. Then I started forcing myself to wear shorts to the gym. I also got tattoos on the outside of my thighs – the tattoo artist called my legs “strong”, and ever since I’ve been able to wear knee-length skirts and I even wore mesh gym shorts I stole from my brother (paired with a sports bra and tank top) to a baseball game. In public! With people!
It felt like redemption.
Wait, adult women wear shorts ever?
Thigh tattoos are a really fabulous idea.
@Mkp: I’m mulling doing a tattoo post (both my ankles are tattooed, but on the inside, not the outside). Yours sound awesome!
@BeSarcastic: Agreed about the effects of a supportive partner. My first boyfriend helped me get over a lot of my body image anxiety just by finding me attractive as I was. After that experience, fitting the hottie stereotype didn’t matter so much.
The only friend who ever teased me about my looks was a boy. Three words: “matronly upper arms.” I laugh about it now, but you bet I’m still self-conscious. In school, my girlfriends and I were always comparing ourselves to each other and finding our own appearances lacking. It’s a sad dynamic that colored all of my friendships with girls as a teenager.
I’m reminded of the scene in ‘Spanglish’ when Tea Leoni’s character buys her daughter all new cute clothes but as the girl is looking through her loot, she notices all the clothes her mom bought for her are a few sizes too small. That was her mom’s roundabout hurtful way of saying ‘You need to lose weight’. Such a sad scene. Then the new housekeeper (forget her name) secretly takes the clothes home one night and lets them out for the girl. So sweet! I cried.
I don’t wear shorts, but this is also probably because that I used to rock climb a lot, and so my knees were always bruised in a very, um, suggestive way. Now it’s habit. Also, I might blind innocent bystanders with my supreme paleness.
You know what’s unappetizing? Hearing someone talk about how many Weight Watchers points are in a meal and analyzing calories to death WHILE YOU ARE EATING. Dad was the only one meant to be on a diet, but we all lost weight. My sister’s natural weight should be 115-120; she went down to 105. Me? 20lbs less than I am now.Apparently, I looked *quite* unwell senior year in high school (when Dad was dieting) because I was not eating a damn thing. (I’m hypoglycemic, so I was also a bitch who passed out occasionally during this period.) I found out later that all of my friend’s moms had colluded to feed me–they would all offer me whatever they had whenever I was at their houses, as soon as I walked in the door. When I first went to grad school, I was in a lab with perpetually dieting girls who would eat salads and talk about calories… I learned to eat lunch elsewhere. I accidentally lost 15lbs b/c of stress/depression over the summer, and my BFF from high school (who was badly anorexic in college–guess whose boyfriend called her fat when she weighed all of 120?) said that she was going to drive out from DC and forcefeed me lard if I went below 125.
Honestly, the hypoglycemia probably saves me from real anorexia, but even at my thinnest, I still thought I could stand to lose a couple of pounds. It’s like having a funhouse mirror in my head that makes me look fatter to myself than I really am. I can see it in my mother, sister, and grandmother as well, but two of those people have hyperthyroid disorders and their weight is beyond their control now (surgery + meds).
So I guess what I meant was that indirect stuff about food can matter almost as much as direct commentary in giving issues to kids. Yay!
My mom was constantly dieting, would tell me I needed to lose weight and then would go out and buy all my favorite snack foods and tell me she was “helping” me because I needed to develop my will power.
My dad used to call me “bubble butt” and “thunder thighs.”
Body issues? I haz dem. A lot.
It did not help that through years of eating disorders and compulsive exercise I never managed to get smaller than a size 10 (thank you big hips) and that no matter how fucking miserable I made myself, there was always at least one person (usually a guy) there to tell me I was still too fat for them.
My therapist earns her fees. Trust me.
@JessMess: That scene made me turn off the movie because it just got me so upset.
@Krushchev – When I moved at the end of 8th grade, a boy from my class wrote: “Have a nice summer, maybe you’ll finally grow some tits” in my yearbook. I cried for weeks.
I agree that making sure your daughters AND sons learn appropriate behavior is important. It seems obvious that a parent’s hurtful remarks about looks can effect their kids long into adulthood. But where did little boys learn to be so cruel? TV? Other little boys? And how do I make sure my kid doesn’t end up writing “maybe you’ll finally grow some tits” in someone’s yearbook?
Oh, I know the feeling of having a bully mother, even knowing (now, age 25) it was not intentional. I was a chubby kid and she used to keep pushing me to lose weight. Ok, fair enough, although her methods were not quite helpful. Then she started threatening me, more like promising things if I dropped some pounds.
I think things hit rock bottom when I was about to turn 10 – she never gave me a birthday party that year telling I was “too fat” for cake and stuff.
I can’t rememeber anything that cruel, even knowing she thought all this judgemental thing would be helpful.
Wow, I am so glad to see I am not the only one who thought boys were a lot meaner than girls in middle and high school! Some random dude in high school once came up to me and informed me I really needed a “face job.” That was bad, but nothing compared to the boys who tormented me in middle school. One charming fella told me I should never wear makeup, because it would not help, because I would never be pretty. He popped up recently on a friend’s Facebook page. He has two daughters. How would he feel if some jerk said that to them?
BTW,I enjoy your blog — found it through Feministing.
BGz, maybe part of it is, as your kid approaches/enters puberty, make sure he’s aware of the agony the girls are suffering too. The fact that the other half is insecure and weirded out and NOT looking to hear his opinion on their tits or lack thereof should probably be part of one of the birds and bees talks.
But your kid will be awesome. Because you will raise him to be kind and to never say or write something he wouldn’t want someone to say about him.
Renata, that is terrible. Hugs.
It really is the eternal battle. My mother has never been backward about coming forwards with comments on my weight, which usually come out in front of people (I remember her telling my newish boyfriend to “tell her to lose weight!”) and it is so weird because in every other way she is an incredible, sensitive person. I think feeling shitty about how you look is often part of the human condition in this day and age. Yes, it is probably conditioning that makes us feel that way, but I can’t be bothered picking apart where nature begins and nurture ends. I think you just have to make a decision as to how to deal with it when you do feel shitty. I always try and say to myself, when giving myself the mental bashing because I don’t like whats in the mirror, that this is nothing to do with my body and everything to do with my head. Seeing as I would never try to fix a broken leg by bandaging my arm, it then seems daft to then try and fix my head by fucking about with my body. It does the job it is paid for perfectly. I also like to remember that when I die, there will be a lot more said about me than “she had one hell of a gut on her”. Thats just how I do things, and generally I feel pretty good about myself. Despite my mothers despairing that I will never “really, really enjoy clothes”. Bless her.
On the note of boys being worse than girls about appearance bullying, I decided to go to an all girls public high-school for that very reason. In middle school, I got shit from everyone, about my acne, about my weight, about the fact that I had a c-cup at 13 (my nickname was “cow” and most of the class would moo at me in the hallways or make obnoxious “got milk” jokes. at 13.) When some of us all went to the girls school, the teasing stopped about mid-way through freshman year. Once the other girls from middle school didn’t have the boys to try and impress, they stopped and some even apologized.
As far as my parents were concerned, there were both teens in the mid-70′s and had very feminist views on raising daughters. They thought we were beautiful, but they were also honest about what worked for us and what didn’t. If I wanted a dress that didn’t look good on me because of the color or the cut, my mom would tell me and help me find something that did work. When puberty hit, she thought that her positive yet honest style of parenting would protect me from self-image issues. She was incredibly shocked and confused when it didn’t and even to this day she doesn’t understand how I got as bad as I got. She was rough with me when I had these problems because she was convinced I was parroting what other people had said or done for the sake of fitting in, and she thought it was stupid.
She and I have discussed it in the last few years, and we both have come to the realization that parents, even when they are trying to prevent these things consciously, have much less influence that they want to believe.
Oh this is so fascinating. My mother was a model, and as wonderful as my parents are, and I mean that, my father always notes when my Mom wears colors and does her hair, and when I have blonde hair I get compliments, And when dye darker? Not a word. I am thankful at least that I have the awareness.
As a mother myself now, my goal is to keep my mouth SHUT about prettiness, hair, weight, etc., positive or negative. i am 40 years old, and last night when i got home from my hair appt, (I went dark again) my Mom could barely contain herself and kept looking at it and finally said, I like it-make sure you wear it curled or fluffy, not flat. I am still seething. I need to let it go!!
@ Becky and JD – I’ve got a picture of one of them up on facebook, if we’re fb friends!
I really like them (and I’m planning my next one for the same area) because I show them off when I want but I’m not forced to show them to anybody who I don’t want judging me/them. One’s a dream catcher, one’s the female version of Kokopelli.
Tattoo post please!!
My parents and extended family were incredibly awesome regarding food, mostly because it was a complete non-issue for me when I was growing up. I think that’s the best you can ask for — not even being aware that food, eating, and body size might be issues. All my food/body issues came from peers (school kids are SO mean, my god), and, yeah, I’ve got a few, but never from my family.
@BeckySharper: Oh, please do a tattoo post! I love my tattoos, and it’s amazing some of the reactions I get (positive and otherwise).
This is cathartic – reading everyone’s experiences and sharing some of mine.
I grew up in India where we lived with our extended family. My grandmother and a few uncles would constantly tell me that I was short, dark and ugly (tons of acne, wore glasses). They all told me to study very hard so I would get a decent job – this way I wouldn’t be a burden on my parents when I grew up since no man would want to marry me. I spent most of my teenage years hiding my face behind books. My parents never told me I was beautiful or ugly, just to ignore grandma, uncles and cousins. Which meant, their behaviour continued until I found a way to get out of that hellhole.
The good thing that came out it – I am finishing up my PhD in political science. Good education has helped me define myself as a feminist and calling me ugly will never shut me up from making a point or fighting for what I believe in.
The bad thing – A part of me still believes that everyone was right and I can’t bring myself to have a real relationship. My insecurities are too dominant. I still have days where I won’t leave my room if I can’t ‘fix’ my face to look presentable.
Now that I am living with my parents while writing my dissertation, nearing thirty – my mother is obsessed with getting me married. So everyday when she returns from work, the first question she asks me is if I ran on the treadmill. I definitely get glares during second helpings and desserts.
It is exhausting and frustrating. I’ve just accepted that I am never going to look good enough to satisfy everybody, so why bother. Just keep my head down, get my research done and do the work I want to do.
@BeckySharper: Please do a tattoo post so I can share how I secretly subverted parental domination.
(de-lurking to say that) My poor sweet mama, who I love and adore, is a recovering anorexic. Six feet tall, still pretty darn slim. The problem is that, while she’s better with eating now, I don’t think she’s ever really recovered from the psychology of weight as moral value. I know that she feels deep shame over my short, round, pudgy body, because she couldn’t bear to look like I do herself.
The problem is that she dresses it all up in health talk, without getting that my body just works differently from hers. We now have a complete moratorium, imposed by me, on any and all body talk.
Fascinating thread, which I’m sorry to be late to. I find this topic interesting because in my experience (and this is entirely anecdotal) it is my American friends who have been brought up to be weight obsessed by their mothers.
Of all my childhood and college friends in the UK, only one of them had a mother with a weight and looks obsession, that mother was a model and her daughter did have subsequent eating issues. But I have no, yes, no American friends who haven’t at some point cited that their mothers put them down, or went on about their weight or told them they should make more effort. This doesn’t particularly prove anything, I’ve just always found it a cultural difference. As to schools, I went to one mixed school and four all girls schools.
The mixed school was way worse and the only cruel things I have ever had said to me were said by the boys at that school. True story – I once had to miss swimming for two weeks because I have a very heavy menstrual cycle which came coupled with migraines and fainting and the male swimming teacher in front of the whole class, who were predominantly male said: ‘That’s not a period, it’s a bloody leakage’. For the next year boys I had never met would come up and ask me ‘how my leakage’ was. Yes, really.
My parents have been nothing but supportive to me, even though the whole family regularly struggles with weight. I know that a lot of my issues with food have come from the habits my parents taught me, but it’s at least been nice to know that I have a safe zone at home when kids at school were cruel.
On the topic of cruel kids… I was the quintessential nerdy, fat girl growing up. I wore glasses, was always at least 20 lbs. overweight, was obsessed with cats, socially awkward, etc. I’ve heard everything, from “cow” to “you’ll never get a boyfriend” to having things thrown at me on the school bus. It was mostly from boys, too. Eventually, I grew up and filled out a bit, so my tummy is now offset with huge breasts. I actually went up to a boy who used to tease me in 3rd grade once, dressed to the nines, and said, “This is what happened to the girl you used to tease.”
I just hope that, one day, when I have kids, they will be the kind of people to stand up for others who are being hurt. No one should have to go through that. Ever.
Hang in there, SpicyPlumChatni. Finish up and get out (I’m talking to myself here, too, about that first part). This too shall pass. (I hope?)
My mom always shamed me into losing weight. “Sweep the floor. It’ll work your tummy muscles.” Or “You’d be a lot prettier if you got rid of your tummy.” One time she bought me an X-Large and said to me “I was thinking you would grow into it.” I snapped at her and said “You think I’m just gonna keep gaining weight, like I have no control?!” She was taken aback and stammered “No.” She only commented on my weight one time after that, and I put it in perspective for her. She commented on my tummy and I said to her “Why do you hurt me like that? It really hurts when you say things like that to me.” She hasn’t commented on my weight since.
The irony of it all, is that she’s one to talk since she’s morbidly obese.
I know how that feels. My mom is obese now, but spent her youth yo-yoing from diet to diet. She began smoking to try and keep off weight (and didn’t stop until I was 20).
My siblings and I all inherited my dad’s effortlessly skinny genes, and were always very small kids. Around age 11 I (the eldest) gained a fair bit of weight. My mom went into instant panic mode, dragging me to her Weight Watcher’s meetings and making me diet with her. Telling me how ‘easy’ it was for preteens to lose weight. I only lost five pounds, and she was still upset. Because she insisted on bathing us still, I began having an adverse relationship with showering, and avoided it…she would always make some disparaging comment about my bodyweight. I took to not showering, and wearing baggy and ultra-oversized clothing. One time that stands out vividly–she and my sister were arguing in the car, and I was staring out of the window and trying not to be involved. My mom was very upset with my sister, and decided to turn her ire randomly on me… I suddenly hear my name, and the sentence “…while she eats herself into a size 40!”
I lost all of the weight when I grew three inches a year later (puberty, dammit! someone tell parents that kids gain weight before that!), but continue to be leery about my body. Throughout highschool I had an eating disorder, which my mom studiously ignored–praising me instead on how ‘skinny’ I’d gotten.
Moral? Instability is transferable to your children if you’re not mindful of what you say to them. I’ve gained a little weight recently, and though I’m well within my healthy weight range I still dread going to see my mom next week.
My mom is very insecure about her looks, which meant that she often put me and my sister down to make herself feel better about her own looks (or at least that’s my theory). She made fun of our skin, which was whiter than hers, and my ass, which I now consider to be one of my best features. My sister got it worse than I did, because I am very skinny, and she is only average. Not that she never complimented us, but in retrospect, the teasing seems a little cruel.
There was also the very subtle fact that my mom did many things to artificially change her own body, which is pretty much identical to mine. We had the same small boobs, until she got an enhancement when I was 16, which made me feel ashamed of mine. She constantly diets even though she’s thin, which made me worry that even though I was thin, maybe I wasn’t thin enough. And then there’s the Botox and the hair dye, but I hope that by the time I reach her age, I will be very secure with wrinkles and gray hair.