I realized that I was the culprit. It was my own actions, my image of myself, the offhand things that I say about losing weight and watching what I eat.
To an extent, even the way we’ve taught our children that healthy eating and exercise is good for their body, the threat has always been ‘You get fat if you don’t do this or do that.’
In this house, we teach everything in moderation. You can eat pizza if you want, but if you eat it every day, it’s bad for you.
You can have candy, with the same adage. Soda, cake, ice cream, steak, potatoes, pasta, salad… all of them in moderation, because it’s the variety that keeps you healthy. With the underlying threat that if you don’t do that you’ll get fat.
I was teaching my daughter that being fat was ugly and hateful and harmful to her.
I was telling her to be concerned with how she looked and what other people thought.
I was telling her, indirectly, you’re supposed to be afraid of getting fat. You’re supposed to be watchful and cautious, and even if you’re not worried about it, you’re supposed to be worried that other people might be thinking you are.
I had shaped her thoughts.
It was like every moment I spoke badly of myself…
…each time I’d made a disparaging remark about my tummy…
…or spoke about how I need concealer under my eyes…
…or asked my reflection if I looked fat and then changed my clothing…
…I was telling her, “There’s something wrong with me and I don’t like it and you shouldn’t either. Remember that all of your flaws are terrible and need to be fixed before you can be seen and before you’re happy with yourself.”
I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. Like they’d reached into my body and pulled out my heart and was slowly squeezing it right in front of my eyes.
This was my fault.
Of course, after a moment, reality sunk in. Even if I had the greatest body image in the world and had no insecurities, there would STILL be the rest of society.
The poison would still be out there, dropping seeds of self-doubt and hate into the minds of children everywhere.
