Let me address the elephant in the room before getting into my thoughts on body-shaming. I’m a skinny girl. Always have been. I have some curves above my waist only. That being said, I have not felt comfortable in my own skin ever, but especially since having my first child nine years ago. I have stretch marks, love handles that protrude over my almost non-existent hips, some mid-section pudge that just won’t go away no matter how hard I try because my muscles will never be the same after a c-section and a chest size that fluctuates for sometimes no reason at all. I’ve been told I have chicken legs and a giant nose for almost my entire life and have been made fun of for my mostly flat backside. Skinny shaming is a totally real thing.
I pride myself on the fact that I don’t shame anyone about their size. Knowing how it feels to be on the other end of shaming has allowed me to learn compassion. I will tell all of my friends how beautiful they are and shush them when they have anything negative to say about their body. I tell my daughter on an almost daily basis how pretty she is. Not that pretty is the only thing she should aspire to be, but as a reminder that she is.
But there is always one person I criticize daily. Me! I hate looking in the mirror. I hate trying on clothes and often buy a size up in shirts so I don’t look pregnant in form-fitting shirts. I’ve returned countless shirts and dresses because I just hate the fit around my stomach. High waisted leggings are my go to under thin shirts and spanx under dresses to just tuck everything back into place. I point my chin down and hate open mouth smiles in pictures. I’m not kidding, it’s bad. But I had no idea just how bad it was about to get.
I was invited to go swimming for the Fourth of July. Days later my son would be having his birthday party at my aunt’s house and would spend most of his time swimming. I’m not really into swimming myself and probably haven’t done anything more than dip my feet in while my kids go splashing by. I haven’t bought a new bathing suit in probably six years. Without trying it on, I bought a bikini from a clearance rack at Target to inspire me to get back into shape and have a flat stomach again. That didn’t happen. I got depressed, divorced and completely un-motivated to do anything about my weight. I fell for someone that was fine with my squishy stomach and saw me as perfect no matter what. But this year my youngest begged me to go swimming with her so she could show off some of her new skills. So I looked on Amazon and found a high waisted swimsuit. I tried it on and immediately said no. I placed it back in the package and returned it within minutes of trying it on. I ran to Target, Kohl’s, Victoria’s Secret, Wal-Mart and continued to browse Amazon. I got to the point where I sat in a dressing room and cried because no matter what, I looked bad. It can be demoralizing. I finally settled on a black swim tank top and matching bottoms because at least it covered the parts I hated the most.
I got in the pool on Thursday and my daughter was thrilled. She showed off her signature new move of jumping in the pool with a pool float around her waist. All that crying in the fitting room seemed pointless. She didn’t care how I looked in a swim suit. She doesn’t care how I look in pictures. She doesn’t care about my big nose, the nagging belly fat, my crooked smile or my frizzy hair. She cared that I was in the pool at the moment, carrying her around.
I don’t want my daughter to cry in dressing rooms or figure out ways to give an illusion of curves. Or hide her curves. I want my daughter to be happy. I want her to feel confident and beautiful no matter what she is wearing. I want her to be present and carefree if she ever decides to have kids. I have to get better about shaming myself, especially in front of her because everything you say in front of kids is internalized.
Stop worrying about what society thinks and start thinking about being present and feeling confident to flaunt your body as is. My stretch marks and extra padding in the middle are from two miracle babies. I brought two humans into this world via my body and two brutal surgeries. That’s pretty badass if you think about it. So screw the beauty standards, eat that cupcake and work-out if you want. Just don’t let anyone (INCLUDING YOURSELF) say mean things about to you about your body.