Growing
up as a real gangly thing (think, snowman, without the snow), I will never forget when our fourth grade P.E. teacher took it upon herself to warn us
of the dangers of... our future weight issues. The whole thing was sort of odd, and completely out of the blue, as she announced to the girls in
class “now girls, in high school, you're going to think you're fat,
but just know that you aren't, okay? It's all in your head.”
Weird,
right? Were here pants too tight that day? or did she really think she was doing us a favor?
Anyway, she said it, and I remember turning to one of my best friends at the
time who was very thin herself and saying, “Oh, well we don't have
to worry about that” and without skipping a beat she goes, “Oh,
but you have to.” I can't remember the exact wording that followed,
but it was something along the lines of, “if you don't think you're
fat, you're never going to fit in {and} It's expected of you.”
Being nine-years-old and highly impressionable, I instantly believed her. I wasn't
sure why
she was right, but I was certain it was the truth.
Clearly
I don't blame my, then BFF (BEST FRIEND FOR LIFE!), for what she
said. But it makes me wonder, where did she create the story? Who
told her to worry about her
weight? Why did she feel this expectation, and further, why did she
feel the need to impress it upon me? Beyond the BFF, why did our P.E.
Teacher bring this up in the first place? Why did she feel the need
to prematurely instill anxiety about our weight? And
to so clearly place it as an issue to the women little
girls, in the room. Almost as to say, “Hey boys, keep eating! And
Ladies, keep eating, but just so you know, you're gonna wish you
hadn't.”
But
the thing is, following that day, my mind became just as distorted as
theirs. Being so impressionable, and believing what I was told,
weight concerns were now a part of the story that I carried; But at
54 pounds, that ain't right.
My
story continues from here, and it doesn't lead into any sort of
disordered eating or any other type of textbook “disorder(ed)”
issues. But you know what is disordered? THE STORY. The story that I
learned to tell myself and the story we learn to tell OURSELVES that
then becomes the story we tell our daughters, nieces, PE students,
and friends.
I
don't blame you, friend, because at some point along the line,
your BEST FRIEND FOR LIFE (which is a bullshit term anyway. It just
means you have matching necklaces and I legit don't even know if that
girl is still alive) told you a similar story. “It must be true”
you thought, and then you hated yourself forever, and so did all the
other women in the land, the end.
But
in all seriousness, it's time to change the story. It's time to
realize that happiness and acceptance have nothing to do with our
pounds or hair color or nail color or whatever bullshit we've been
told that “I will be accepted when __________________.” That's a
marketing scheme, and a pretty rude one, if you ask me. So maybe
let's teach our daughters that they're enough, and then maybe word
will get around that we are all enough, and maybe, just then, we'll
all believe it.
Original artwork by Lauren Taylor. I know, you're shocked, it's just, so amazing. I'm so talented. Blah blah blah.
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