So I’m standing in the grocery store check out lane with Buttercup, patiently waiting our turn to pay when I made the mistake of actually skimming the headlines and blurbs about various celebrities relating to their weight, how they either lost it or keep it off, and why this should matter to me. And you. Because emulating Angelina Jolie did wonders for Octamom.

About that…

My eyes dart from one blurb to another and as each one gets seared into my brain and the only cohesive thought I have is that Buttercup will never be allowed to set foot in a grocery store again for fear of psychologically damaging her in an effort to pick up a gallon of milk.

BEYONCE SHOWS OFF HER NEW MOM BODY

 

Beyonce shows off her New Mom Body right next to a blurb parading empty promises.  CGI, airbrushing, crash diets, and really creative camera angles will work for us Regular People, too, it seems. I’m assuming that means I should clear our the guest room for the personal macrobiotic chef and his entourage, right? Oh, but where will the nanny take care of my child while I workout with my personal trainer in my home gym for six hours a day so I can get to headline-ready shape before  filming starts on my next blockbuster?

Wait…you mean that isn’t how this is supposed to work?

 

 

 

LOSE 13 POUNDS IN SEVEN DAYS EATING CAKE!

There’s only one way I can think of this actually happening…and that’s how I ended up in therapy the first time.

Next?

 

 

GET A BETTER BODY! CELEBRITIES SHARE THEIR CONFIDENCE BOOSTERS!

Because focusing on inner beauty and feeling good about the reflection in the mirror no matter what the scale says is exactly how y’all got onto the big screen to begin with, right?

 

 

 

DROP 47 POUNDS BY MEMORIAL DAY AND WALK OFF JELLY BELLY!

 

Hold the fucking train, people. They mean by Memorial Day of 2013, RIGHT?

 

 

 

THE BRIDESMAID STAR ON LOVING WHO YOU ARE!

FINALLY! A moment of clarity! A publication willing to buck societal expectations and instead celebrate who and what we are now instead of promoting the bullshit promising us that We Too Can Lose Six Pounds in Four Days and Feel Great!

Maybe other publications will start to do the same! Maybe a new generation of young and impressionable girls won’t be subjected to the planetary version of high school hell and come out on the other side the better for it.

Maybe…Look!

Ladies Home Journal is jumping in with more insight on the subject…

 

WHY CAN'T WE SEE OUR REAL SELVES IN THE MIRROR?

Seriously?

I dunno…I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that could possibly have something to do with the contradictory messages about self-worth and body image and their direct correlation with the engrained importance of Other People’s Opinions in our psyche regarding how society perceives us to look? Maybe it’s the fact that our value as women is measured by today’s media using our measurements and not our achievements? No, wait! I’ve got it….

It’s because we were so busy eating cake for breakfast and losing 47 pounds by this Thursday that we totally forgot to clean the mirror, isn’t it? Silly us…

Oh that isn’t it?

 

 

WHO WANTS TO PLAY "FIND THE FAT CHICK?"

 

I’m being facetious, obviously. I think Melissa McCarthy is a talented actress with an adorable voice and I love her confidence. She also, in my humble opinion, happens to be gorgeous. That being said, I’m thinking product placement and the fact that the only reason I noticed the bottom rack (on multiple magazine racks, I’d like to point out)  is because I was on my knees taking photos of random magazine covers for a blog post about how those mean old magazine covers called me Fat and Unhappy. And that’s when the cashier gives me my total and tells Buttercup how beautiful she is.

“I know,” she responds with the confidence she inherited from The Husband. Then she catches herself and notices that I seem to be waiting for something. She clears her throat. “Thank you.”

And we head for home, my four-year-old already learning that society appreciates the pretty things.

 

Mar 122012
 

The Husband has been uncharacteristically quiet lately. Not in typical, every day conversation, mind you. He’s got plenty to say when Buttercup asks him to pretend he’s five of her princess dolls at the same time. And we’re managing to keep the texting each other from across the table to the times we are paying someone else to make our dinner, so, you know, the face-to-face thing is still good. And when he’s talking on the phone he has this crazy annoying habit of pacing the entire length of the house because, apparently, it’s physically impossible to sit still while unconsciously raising the volume of his voice loud enough that we never actually have to tell the neighbors we are going on vacation and need to collect our mail for us.

For those who are acquainted with The Husband, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about when I say that it’s kind of unnerving. I said “I Do” with the full understanding that I was becoming Mrs. My God, You Can’t Help Being An Asshole, Can You? And by Asshole, I totally mean Honest to a Fault. And that fault is named San Andreas.

The time I spent sixty bucks and half the day at a salon getting my kinky curls straightened into gloriously shiny and straight tresses for a family wedding?

He said: Looks good. Don’t do it again. Translation? I love your frizzy curls even if you don’t.

My response as I stood on tiptoe to kiss him? You are such an asshole. Translation? You are such an asshole.

Or the time I was pregnant and was crying about the size of my ass  and my freakishly short legs and said something about how I wished the baby would inherit his genes?

He said: Yeah, I do too. Translation: Oh shit. That’s totally not what I meant. Except for the freakishly short legs thing. That? I meant.

My response as I tried not to fall down laughing: You are such an asshole. Translation? You are such an asshole.

And the time I was being sewn up by the hottest resident not cast in a television hospital drama because giving birth isn’t exactly a fucking picnic and my little baby was snuggled up on my chest?

He said: She really ripped you a new one, didn’t she? Translation: It would have been physically impossible for me not to say that out loud.

My response as I glared at him for the first time during the entire birthing process: You are such an…

Oh never mind. We all know where this is going.

The point is, he was born with a broken filter and prides himself on it. It’s one of the things I love about him that drives me absolutely insane at the same time. So I guess I was a little surprised when I realized that he has yet to comment on my recent (read: since Christmas) lack of OCD-like strict avoidance of processed foods and that brief love affair I had the with elliptical. At least until I was brainstorming writing ideas out loud and mentioned how I’ve realized the scale can call me a fatass one time and it blows my entire routine and reason for living out of the water and drives me straight into the nearest source of sugar-laden guilt covered in chocolate. So, I said, what if I avoided the scale? What if I told society (and my own) obsession with The Number to fuck the hell off and instead focused on how eating right and being active is just plain old Good For Me and Makes Me Feel Good? What if I just trusted how I feel instead of what the scale makes me feel?

And then, because I was just thinking out loud and had a billion ideas in my head that were spilling out at the same time, I skipped right on to the next Thing In My Head. He listened. I threw more out and then he listened some more. And when I was finally done Not Thinking Silently, The Husband stopped being quiet.

He told me how I base my entire self-worth on what the scale says and the rising of the very sun depends on it not pissing me off and making me cry. He said that I can go months and months with respectable losses that keep me motivated enough to keep going and then the One Time I weigh myself and the scale politely asks me why I want to know what the average weight of a newborn baby hippo is, I give up instantaneously and then go months and months before deciding to repeat the whole cycle again.

Then, he told me to take the batteries out of the scale.

Why? I asked.

He said: Because even if no one reads whatever it is you turn this into, you need to learn that you are not a number and stop this professional yo-yo bullshit.  Translation: I love you.

My response as I stood on tip toe to kiss him: You are such an asshole. Translation: I love you, too.

And we put the scale away.

 

It’s a good day.

I’ve been avoiding Twitter and Facebook for most of the day simply because I couldn’t possibly care less about who wore what on the red carpet and who won an Oscar for a movie I most likely didn’t have time to see. So it was pure luck that I saw a tweet from Leah Segedie announcing that the Strong 4 Life #Ashamed ads will be coming down in March.

If you live under a rock and have no clue what I’m talking about, here’s the short version: I wrote a column for Owning Pink that was read by Leah Segedie of Mamavation fame who got plenty pissed off that these ads were using shame to fight the childhood obesity epidemic so she organized a few twitter parties that got covered by CNN, Headline News, and other news outlets and now we all get to sing For She’s a Jolly Good Fellow.

Because she is.

And so is every single blogger and community leader who spoke out against shaming our children and reinforced the idea that we need to fight obesity and not obese people and shared their own stories of childhood shame. Thank you. You’re all jolly good fellows, too.

Please, if you have a moment, click here to see Leah’s full update on the #Ashamed campaign and shout from the mountain tops (Or just use all caps in a social media update when you say) THANK YOU to all who stepped up to speak out against shame.

We made a difference, y’all. And that makes me smile.

 

Let me preface this post by saying that we painted Buttercup’s nursery a neutral shade of soft green, avoided All Things Pink until she decided pink was her favorite color somewhere around 18 months, and had a strict Anti-Barbie policy when it came to the dolls allowed in our home.

Only three channels are allowed on the television (Nick Jr., PBS Kids, and Disney Juniorbefore all those mindless Hannah Montana type shows take over the screen) and Buttercup isn’t really sure what a commercial is.

All Victoria Secret catalogs and other like materials that end up in my mail box go straight into the recycling bin and the other “F” word in our house is “fat.” Conversations and freak-outs about the size of my own ass are limited to texts messages with the BFF or put on public display for the rest of the world to see. We focus all conversations about exercise and food and such around being healthy and strong and having good energy.

And when well-meaning strangers comment on how “big” Buttercup is for her age (she’s about 49 inches tall at four years of age now) I always gently rephrase the statement by responding, “Why yes, she’s very tall, isn’t she?” I say it with a smile.

Always.

You also need to know that I was five feet tall when I was eight years old, wore my mother’s jeans to save money on new clothes, and grew up constantly hearing how “big” I was while sitting in front of Univision or Telemundo watching skantily clad women with long legs and flat stomachs and big, white teeth strut in front of their studio audience of their televised children show. Anyone remember Xuxa? Yeah…she was a porn star and then children everywhere were singing the theme song to the show while our fathers drooled.

I was hiding in the pantry to binge eat by the time I was eight and bulimic by the time I was 15. And obviously, there are still issues I’m dealing with.

Barbie was banned not because I hate perky blondes, but because I thought having a doll like that in our home would undo all I am trying so hard to prevent. I was convinced that Barbie and her body would make my little girl question her own and set up unrealistic expectations and a lifetime of disappointment. And then one day I found myself cruising the toy aisles in search of a birthday gift for one of Buttercup’s little girlfriends. Of course, we found what we were looking for on the shelves directly across the aisle from the Barbie display.

 

I saw ballerina barbies…

 

 

And Skipper and her sister…

 

 

And Odette from Swan Lake Barbie…

 

And (Hot for) teacher Barbie…

And then we saw Wizard of Oz Barbie…

 

That’s when The Husband whispered something into my ear that sounded something like “no way in hell…

And that’s when I remembered all the Barbies I grew up playing with and how I never once compared my own prepubescent body to the plastic one I had in my hands and how Barbie was the furthest thing from my mind when I was throwing up whatever I had just binged on. Barbie, I realized, wasn’t my issue. But Barbies skanky enough that the name could be changed to Exotic Dancer Barbie (the dancer’s pole is extra, mom and dad) and her clothing would still match the description?

Yeah….that? I have a serious problem with.

We have a new rule in our house: no skanks allowed. Barbie like I remember from my childhood? Fine by me.

She may end up just as naked just as fast and tossed into the pile of other naked dolls once taken out of the packaging, but at least this way I don’t have to explain a bustier, thigh highs, and stripper heels to a four-year-old.

 

It’s been an hour since I began attempting to write a new post summing up the #ashamed twitter party. So far I’ve started over four times and finally decided my mind is just too riled up to think straight, so I’m taking the easy way out and reposting the column that went live on Owning Pink yesterday about the aggressive anti-obesity ads and their connection to a rise in eating disorders.

Last night’s chat garnered more than 41 million pageviews with 450 participants, led by Leah Segedie (@Bookieboo), contributing over 3,500 tweets opposing the negative and shameful tone of the Georgia Strong 4 Life campaign.Impressive numbers. And yet, somehow not enough to spur Strong 4 Life into committing to a more positive approach to bringing awareness to childhood obesity.

Not yet, anyway.

 

***

SHAME CAUSES NEW EATING DISORDER?

I’d like to ask when it became mandated by society that the most obvious of details will be ignored/and or denied by the masses until experts step in slap us in the face? Because doctors are now reporting a new type of eating disorder in children attributed to aggressive anti-obesity campaigns.

According to this article, Australian doctors are now treating an onslaught of healthy children being driven to starvation. Victoria’s three leading pediatric services are treating children at the upper end of the medically-accepted healthy weight range who have lost up to a third of their body weight so they can stay thin.

Let me repeat that for you: Doctors are now treating healthy children who have lost up to a third of their body weight because they want to stay thin.

And they are attributing aggressive anti-obesity campaigns as the cause.

Essentially, these children are suffering from anorexia nervosa symptoms such as distorted body image and the amount of weight actually lost but who, when all is said and done, have starved themselves down to the lower end of the healthy weight range. How long before the same trend is documented here in the United States?

Georgia? I’m Looking At You

We can’t talk about children and body image and obesity without touching on the Georgia’s Anti-Obesity campaign, aimed at children.


Mom bloggers are speaking out against the Strong4Life campaign, and rightly so, with some 23 million twitter impressions logged during a recent twitter party hosted by Leah Segedie of Mamavation, who believes the ad campaign will only mentally harm the obese children targeted. Another leading voice in the outcry is that of Sue O’Lear of Mrs. Fatass, who challenges supporters of the campaign and their belief that the absence of shame itself is actually the root cause of obesity to begin with.

You already know how I feel about the topic. I was an eating disordered child on the higher end of the healthy weight range who alternated between starvation and binging and purging who grew into a mother with the same issues who has a daughter whom I am determined will grow strong and confident and happy with her reflection.

Shame is not a part of that equation.

Focus on the Positive

In my home we avoid the words “fat” and “diet” and instead focus on positive terms such as “healthy and strong” and how nutritious foods and regular activity give us “good energy.” When strangers comment on how big my daughter is (she stands about 49 inches tall at four years of age) I gently rephrase the statement by substituting the word “big” for “tall.” She’s four and thinks it’s hilarious to arch her back after a particularly good meal to emphasize the happy little Buddha pooch and I love that.

I grew up listening to adults in my family cry about the size of their thighs, who was on a diet and which one, who in the family still hadn’t lost the baby weight, and well-intentioned “You’re getting a little big, aren’t you’s?” contradicted by sugar highs disguised as pinatas followed up with cake and ice-cream.

And we all know how I turned out.

I’m not vilifying my family. No one intentionally set out to shame me into eating disordered thinking, eating, and body image. Their intent was most probably the opposite: to help me grow into a woman without their weight problems. And I’m willing to bet that those behind the Ashamed ad campaign have positive intentions, as well. But, as the Australian doctors treating the newest form of eating disorder are stating, physical health cannot be the only consideration.

Emotional health and positive messages are paramount to addressing the issue of childhood obesity without creating a new generation of broken spirits.

 ***

Before I go, I’d like to share this. At one point in the chat, Strong 4 Life tweeted me directly and stated that the billboards will not be coming down. My response was simple.

“Why the hell not?”

But when I asked if anyone on the team responsible for the ad concept had ever suffered from an eating disorder or been an overweight child, I got no answer.

Not surprisingly, the  “so seriously, ever trained a puppy? how’s beating them and making them cry working for you? Not so good?” tweet also was left without a response.

Why bother explaining yourself when you believe those opposing you are in the wrong? I’ll answer that for you…

Because we aren’t going away.

And for the record? Strong 4 Life has every fucking reason in the world to be ashamed.

 

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