Fat talk has been part of my life since before I even thought about my first date. I had hoped that once I became a parent, I would outgrow this habit. For years, standing in front of the mirror, I would whisper things like:
- I feel so bloated right now.
- Does this outfit make me look enormous?
- I can’t believe I just devoured that much cake. Gross.
- Is my stomach sticking out?
- I never used to have this much cellulite. Seriously, look at this.
My friends would join in, outdoing one another with their own body insecurities, lamenting over their thighs or how they felt unworthy of skinny jeans. One friend even confessed her disdain for her knees. We turned fat talk into a competitive event, all thanks to the unwritten rules of Womanhood, which dictated:
- Never simply accept a compliment; follow it with a self-deprecating remark, like, “Oh, you love my shirt? I adore the long style because it hides my behind.”
- When a friend expresses concern over her appearance, respond with, “Oh please, you should see how bad I have it!”
My husband could barely tolerate these conversations. Sometimes he would reassure me that I looked beautiful, while other times, he would simply ignore my complaints. Occasionally, he would shake his head and ask, “You’re not going to talk like this in front of our child, are you?” Indignantly, I would respond, “Of course not!”
Then our baby arrived, and I quickly realized that breaking free from fat talk was far more challenging than I had imagined. Regardless of my intentions for my daughter to grow up with a healthy body image, I found myself trapped in a cycle of negativity.
I made excuses: She’s too young to understand. Even if she does, she can’t talk yet, so I have time. Anyway, I always tell her I love her little body. I find her chubby tummy adorable, and she knows that. Her pudgy thighs? Absolutely precious. Surely, she’s not really watching me.
But that was a lie. It never was true.
When my daughter was just a few weeks old, I would lay her on the bathroom floor while I styled my hair and applied makeup. I’d catch her eyes following my every move. At eight months, I noticed her holding a fabric to her face and blowing through her nose—mimicking me. By 12 months, she would rummage through my bag, grabbing lip gloss and “applying” it to her lips, cap still on.
At 15 months, she would grab the broom and dustpan, dragging them around the house, completely oblivious to the mess around her high chair. Now, at 18 months, she’s trying on my shoes, helping wipe the table with her bib, and scrubbing the floor with my bath brush. I never realized how often I say “Okay…” until I heard her repeating it.
My daughter is watching me, and I’m still making negative comments about my body, albeit less frequently than before. I’d be lying if I said my self-acceptance blossomed since becoming a mother. In fact, it’s probably because I currently weigh less than I ever have as an adult. Yet, that doesn’t stop me from grumbling about the changes my body has undergone post-baby.
I want to believe that my body is beautiful every day, even if my belly feels bloated and my skin shows signs of age. More importantly, I want my daughter to grow up believing it’s normal for women to see their beauty.
I try to keep my fat talk to a minimum when she’s around, but like animals sensing fear, I believe young children can detect shame. I was naïve to think body acceptance would come easily after having my daughter, but I see now that it’s a journey.
Body image remains a struggle for me, and I realize that hiding it isn’t the solution. I need to confront it. For now, that means avoiding negative talk in her presence, allowing her to explore my belly (as long as she steers clear of my belly button), and wearing a bikini at the pool, even when it feels uncomfortable.
Motherhood has taught me the value of improvisation, because nothing is as straightforward as I once believed.
For those navigating similar paths, you can explore resources on fertility and home insemination at Make a Mom or learn more about couples’ fertility journeys at Make a Mom. Additionally, March of Dimes offers excellent support for anyone considering fertility treatments.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, Jamie Lee shares her personal struggle with “fat talk” and how becoming a mother has impacted her body image. Despite her hopes of breaking the cycle of negative self-talk, she finds that her daughter is keenly observant and absorbing her attitudes toward body image. Jamie emphasizes the importance of self-acceptance and the need to model positive body image for her child, leveraging improvisation as she navigates motherhood.
Keyphrase: body image acceptance
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