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I’ve thought a lot about how to help a girl grow up confident: confident in her abilities, her intellect and in her own body. Lord knows it is a challenge to grow up in American society. Definitions of beauty and success are stiflingly narrow. When my daughter was a young teen, I remember driving her and two of her friends somewhere in the car. They were speaking about each other’s body parts: breast size, buttocks size, etc. As the adult in the room, I could not let these comments go without offering an adult perspective. I tried not to judge but rather ask questions and show my curiosity. I asked, “Why are you talking about each other’s body parts?” They giggled and replied, “We didn’t know you were listening.” “Yes, I was listening, and you girls are so much more than your body parts. What if you were to talk about qualities you admire in each other?”
Now there’s a novel idea! Well, this ended the conversation, and they went onto to talk about something far more innocuous. As a young woman who grew up with an immature father who constantly commented on women’s bodies in front of me including my own body as it went through puberty, I have firsthand knowledge of the damage such talk can inflict. I grew up fearing that my father would not love me unless I was beautiful and model- thin. His love was conditional, and this caused a lot of pain.
As the mother of a daughter and son, I set out not to repeat the same mistakes, and I stuck adamantly to it. I know all parents make mistakes, and I am certain I have made my fair share, but I was committed to be aware of things I said and of how they could be interpreted. Before we had children, my husband and I talked a lot about what was most important in raising our children and about what we wanted most for them. This was our mantra for the years we raised them and for them today: We wanted them to be happy, kind and considerate human beings. That was the most important thing. We did not think about their future jobs, success or worth being based on anything other than those ideas of character. We did not want them to think that there was any such thing as perfection because we both believed it does not exist. I recommend the essay Being Perfect by Anna Quindlen. It is a gem and a helpful reminder of what is most important in living a happy and content life. The essay is wonderful, but three sentences in particular ring true, and they are sentiments I try to impart on friends and family. “Perfection is static, even boring. Imitations are redundant. Your true unvarnished self is what is wanted.” That last sentence really rings true. What matters is beginning the work of becoming ourselves.
Imagine my surprise when my twenty-year-old daughter told me that her friend’s mother commented on one of her body parts; it was unsolicited. The Mom said, “Wow, your butt is getting flat. You need to hit the gym and do some squats.” Perhaps this is how young girls learn that it is ok to talk about their body parts with each other. Their mothers model the behavior for them! Grownups need to help young people appreciate themselves and treat them with respect and dignity. Moms and Dads, please talk about your children’s virtues, not their physical appearance. Our culture gives them plenty of feedback about this! If you are insecure about something, keep it to yourself. Please don’t pass on that insecurity to your children.
When I was 5 or so a friend’s Mom, upon seeing me in a bathing suit, told me to “suck in my gut”. When I was 14 I got my first wolf whistle from boys when I wore a brand new red spandex bathing suit with high legs and a maillot backless style. That same summer, in the same suit, my mother made it a point of telling me that while we were visiting a friend who had a pool, the friend, who had not seen me since I was a little girl, told my Mom “too bad Donna takes after her father in build, not you”. When I was 17 I gained a lot of weight because I was growing out before growing out and refused to wear anything but a red track suit–even on the beach in 100 degree heat and my Mom said “my daughter has turned into Santa Claus”. When I was 18 I was raped and became super controlling of my body, my surroundings–compulsively neat and addicted to working out and dieting–I wore a vintage black cocktail dress to a summer party and my Mom said “My daughter is Marilyn Monroe!” By the next year, my 5 7 frame weighed 103 pounds. My mother, on the same beach where just 2 years before I had been called Santa, now chided me for not eating and being too thin. My father complimented me “You look terrific honey. You have your Mom’s legs!” I went into stores and women said “You can wear anything”. Men pursued me on the street offering model contracts and Playboy spreads—but my manager had agents telling him I should “lose 10 pounds”. And the list goes on and on and on—a life spent being Goldipounds—always too much or too little and NEVER “just right”….it was exhausting and corrosive and SO POINTLESS. Thank you for this post and for the forum to alk about important things.