I recently stumbled upon a powerful quote on Instagram: “Your mother’s view of your body does not define you.” This statement struck me hard, almost like a punch to the gut. It resonated deeply, as the shame and judgment surrounding body size and weight are a generational issue in my family.
I haven’t spoken to my mother in over three years, and on the surface, my life is fulfilling and stable. Yet, even after giving birth to four incredible children, I still find myself standing in front of the mirror, sucking in my stomach. Four months post-pregnancy, I tug at the skin on my lower abdomen, envisioning how I would look if I could simply erase it.
As I rush past the mirror in our living room on my way to drop the kids off in the morning, I know I can’t afford to pause and look. If I do, my anxiety spikes at the thought of my body being on display. I feel vulnerable as I walk my son through the bustling halls of his preschool, grappling with the emotional turmoil that stems from my upbringing.
This internal struggle is a daily battle, a legacy passed down from my mother and grandmother, both of whom instilled their own body dysmorphia, fat phobia, and disordered eating habits in me. I remember vividly the summer before my freshman year of high school when my mom cleared out all the ‘snack foods’ from our kitchen, replacing them with meal replacement shakes. “If you drink one for breakfast and lunch, your tummy won’t spill over your pants,” she said, with my grandmother nodding in agreement.
Those pants she referred to were size 4, my beloved American Eagle bootcut jeans. A week later, I discovered the hidden stash of snack foods while searching for a missing sweater—crackers, chips, granola bars—safeguarded away from me. I felt ashamed to open the fridge when anyone else was around, fearing that my body, even at a size 4, was deemed unworthy of a snack.
I often returned home from college to comments about how “skinny” I was, with my size 4 jeans now feeling loose. They would inquire how I managed to stay so thin, completely unaware that I was starving myself, restricting my calories dangerously, and exercising until I felt dizzy. To them, my thinness equated to beauty.
This is a complex and layered issue. My mother and grandmother believed they were helping me, thinking that a smaller body would lead to a better life. I understand they too struggled with self-esteem and their own relationships with food. However, their actions inflicted ongoing pain and trauma on me, revealing a multi-generational and socio-cultural issue that is pervasive and toxic.
I don’t have all the answers, but I know I want to break this cycle for my children. I refuse to let them face the same struggles I did. I’m passionate about the body positivity movement, which I believe is one of the most impactful uses of social media today. I cherish and respect individuals of all sizes, but I wish I could extend that same love to myself.
I’m actively working on embracing my body for me and for my kids, hoping my daughter will never feel the need to suck in her stomach, and my sons won’t let a number on the scale dictate their self-worth. The cycle ends with me.
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Summary
This article reflects on the generational impact of body image issues within a family, detailing the author’s struggles with self-image stemming from her mother and grandmother’s beliefs about weight and beauty. The author is determined to break this cycle for her children by embracing body positivity and advocating for self-love.
Keyphrase
body image struggles
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