I don't know if you watch the Today Show or not, but this morning they interviewed a young woman named Stella Boonshoft, an 18 year old New Yorker who writes a blog called The Body Love Blog. Recently, she posted a photo of herself in her underwear on her blog in an effort to further the body acceptance movement. I have to say, this is a subject close to my heart.
I have struggled with my body image since I was a preteen and some people have even said I was obsessed with it. I don't think "obsessed" is the right term, but it's definitely been something that has played a major role in my life. I remember being in the fifth grade and a group of girls were weighing and when I stepped on the scale, I weighed 20 pounds more than ALL of them. I was mortified, humiliated, embarassed and I hated myself for ever getting on that scale. I don't remember ever feeling gross, fat or disgusting before that day. One of the older girls made some remark about my weight; I don't remember what she said, only that it stung. The fact that I was quite a bit taller than most girls my age did not translate for me. Nor did the fact that I already had large breasts while many of them were still in training bras. All I knew was that I was much heavier than them and, to me, that meant that I was fat and that made me feel horrible and disgusting. Her comment just confirmed what I was already feeling. I've looked back at photos of myself at that age and I was by no means fat. I wasn't a beanpole, but I wasn't overweight. I was tall and strong; I worked horses, cleaned stalls, loaded sacks of feed, hauled hay and played sports on a daily basis. But, I still had a negative self-image.
Several boys would call me "red-headed woodpecker" which didn't just hurt, it infuriated me. And since I was a little more "well developed" than some girls my age, I also had to constantly deal with boys trying to touch my body - in the sixth grade! Warning, soapbox sermon coming - no girl should EVER have to deal with that! Parents need to teach their sons that this is unacceptable and is actually illegal. People chalk this kind of behavior up to "curious children" and think that it's harmless, but the truth is that it is an assault on another person. You are not allowed to grope someone just because you feel the urge to. The boys laughed about it and the more I told them to stop, the more they tried. So, once again, parents, teach your children to respect the bodies and personal space of others and to keep their hands to themselves. Thank you.
As I got older, my struggle continued. My friends wore a size 6, I was an 8. They had petite little feet and I wore a size 10. They had tiny hands and mine were huge like a sasquatch. My hair was red and fuzzy and chaotic and theirs was a pretty blonde or brunette and wavy and beautiful. My skin was beyond pale white and they all had a nice tan color. I don't tan. Ever. Under any circumstances. I had cellulite, they didn't. And if they did, tan fat was prettier than pasty white fat. These are just a few of the things that went through my head; I was constantly finding fault with my appearance and my body. And while I could find numerous faults with myself, I never saw those faults in my friends. I didn't even see faults in the girls who were mean to me. In some sick way, I wanted my body to look like theirs. Some older girls would make negative, bullying comments to me - these girls were not my friends, but because we are a small community and a small school, I had classes with them. Several of them told me that I had a fat a** and it slowed me down when we ran or made fun of my thighs or my hair or my pale skin color or even my clothes. When we would change into our gym clothes they would make fun of the underwear I had on, which weren't any different than the other girls. They would say something rude to me during class or even as I walked past them in the hall. And once one of the girls would say something, there would be one or two boys that would chime in, too. Their comments about my body made me feel worthless, which was something I was already feeling, they didn't need to point it out. But, these same kids would turn around and ask me for answers to tests and quizzes. So, they knew that I was smart, but still felt the need to insult my physical appearance. Once, when my hair was short, a boy remarked that my neck looked like an ostrich. Honestly, he was right, but his words still hurt. I have a long, slender neck and I agree with him that when I have short hair, it makes my neck look abnormally long. But, could he have found a nicer way to say it? Or did it need to be said at all? Or was he trying to be funny and I was just too sensitive? I don't even like my ankles because someone once called them "cankles". I'd never felt self-conscious about my ankles until then. Just think how much better people would feel about themselves if we'd all stop looking for faults and focus on each other's strengths. And how much happier would we be if we were looking for the good in others instead of finding ways to bring them down?
This morning, as I looked at Stella's photo and listened to her story I thought, what a wonderful thing that this young woman is doing! How brave she is to bare herself in such a way that makes her vulnerable and strong at the same time. I hope that many women - young, old or in between - hear the message she is sending about body acceptance (Parental alert: she does drop a few f-bombs on her blog). Body acceptance is an issue that I still struggle with and I pray that it's not something I pass on to the young women and girls around me. I have to remind myself every day that my self-worth is not based on my body size or what I think of it. I am loving. I am a Christian. I am smart. I am strong. I am giving. I am understanding. I am empathetic. I am kind. I am a wife. I am a friend. I am a sister. I am a daughter. I am a (soon-to-be) mother. I make sacrifices and provide for my family. I don't always make the right decision, but I try. I believe in righting wrongs and standing up for the little guy. There are many things that define me besides the number on the scale or on the tag of my pants. It's just hard to always remember that.
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