all sparkly and shit

Like mother like daughter – the ASAS version

So, along the lines of the dialogue we’ve been having, my Mama and I have been talking a lot about the transferral of these body issues between the two of us.  She raised me with whatever issues she had with her own body and worth, I grew up with my own sartorial opinions (planet pants) and later honed my own and helped her hone her style, and passed back some of her problems along with plenty of my own… and round and round we go.  I know so many people have shared this article, but it’s truly poignant for so many women I’ve talked to, and if you haven’t seen it, or even if you have, READ.

Dear Mum,

I was seven when I discovered that you were fat, ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful – in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous, just like a movie star. Whenever I had the chance I’d pull out that wondrous white bathing suit hidden in your bottom drawer and imagine a time when I’d be big enough to wear it; when I’d be like you.

But all of that changed when, one night, we were dressed up for a party and you said to me, ‘‘Look at you, so thin, beautiful and lovely. And look at me, fat, ugly and horrible.’’
At first I didn’t understand what you meant.

‘‘You’re not fat,’’ I said earnestly and innocently, and you replied, ‘‘Yes I am, darling. I’ve always been fat; even as a child.’’

In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that:
1. You must be fat because mothers don’t lie.
2. Fat is ugly and horrible.
3. When I grow up I’ll look like you and therefore I will be fat, ugly and horrible too.

Years later, I looked back on this conversation and the hundreds that followed and cursed you for feeling so unattractive, insecure and unworthy. Because, as my first and most influential role model, you taught me to believe the same thing about myself.

With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror, every new wonder diet that was going to change your life, and every guilty spoon of ‘‘Oh-I-really-shouldn’t’’, I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.  Just like you, I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway? And because I believed I was fat, I knew I was no good.

But now that I am older, and a mother myself, I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.

Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic, she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.

I remember her ‘‘compassionate’’ response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was, ‘‘I don’t understand why he’d leave you. You look after yourself, you wear lipstick. You’re overweight – but not that much.’’

Before Dad left, he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.

‘‘Jesus, Jan,’’ I overheard him say to you. ‘‘It’s not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.’’

That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad’s ‘‘Energy In, Energy Out: Jesus, Jan, Just Eat Less’’ weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. (Remember how in 1980s Australian suburbia, a combination of mince, cabbage, and soy sauce was considered the height of exotic gourmet?) Everyone else’s food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.

As you sat in front of that pathetic scoop of mince, silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. Not even when your shoulders started heaving from your distress. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth – as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own – paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn’t lose from your waist.

It broke my heart to witness your despair and I’m sorry that I didn’t rush to your defense. I’d already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. I’d even heard Dad describe losing weight as a ‘‘simple’’ process – yet one that you still couldn’t come to grips with. The lesson: you didn’t deserve any food and you certainly didn’t deserve any sympathy.

But I was wrong, Mum. Now I understand what it’s like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most, and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of our reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up. No one is crueller to us than we are to ourselves.

But this madness has to stop, Mum. It stops with you, it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better – better than to have our days brought to ruin by bad body thoughts, wishing we were otherwise.  And it’s not just about you and me any more. It’s also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness, her confidence and her potential. I don’t want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset; that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman, we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us, we need to believe it ourselves.

The older we get, the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends – and the people who love them – wouldn’t give for more time in a body that was healthy. A body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body’s thighs or the lines on its face wouldn’t matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.

Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical ‘‘flaws’’ is a moment wasted, a precious slice of life that we will never get back.
Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. Focus on living healthy and active lives, let our weight fall where it may, and consign our body hatred in the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago, my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love, beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.

Love, Kasey xx

Beautiful, right?  I know.  So when I asked my own mother to write something, what was her automatic response?  “Oh, I’m not a writer, honey.  I can’t write like you.”  More self deprecating…  It’s ridiculous, especially from such a smart, strong, beautiful woman who has done it for TOO LONG.  So I pushed, and a few days later, I got the following goodness in my email inbox. 

Whew!  This is a tough one for me.  How do I respond to this blog when the writer is my very own daughter and best friend?
Unfortunately, this subject has been one that has always made me uncomfortable.  As Tara’s mom, I never knew the right thing to say.  From such a young age she was so bright and also so very intuitive.  No pulling the wool over her eyes. At the age of two, this special daughter of mine was reading!  It seemed as though she just absorbed knowledge.
Is this where it all began?  At the age of three I put her in dance class.  Not because she asked to be in dance class but, because I wanted her to love to dance as much as I did. I wanted to be a Rockette, I wanted to be Ginger Rogers dancing with Fred Astaire, and I wanted to be a June Taylor dancer on the Jackie Gleason Show.  Was that my first mistake? Did I accomplish any of those dreams? Did I project those dreams upon my daughter? I had no idea that at such a young age she was looking at the little girl next to her and comparing herself to the other little girls.  What I did see was, once again, this very bright little girl who I loved with all my heart and soul could REALLY dance.  Throughout all the years of dance classes, she was the best of the best and I was the proudest Mom ever.  Was I turning a blind eye to issues that kept surfacing – costumes that she hated because they were too bare, moving ahead into the more advanced classes with the older girls, snide comments from other mothers – Yes.  I do believe now that I was turning a blind eye to this issue.
Tara mentioned in her blog that I was very thin as a kid.  What a different “body image” era this was.  My mom’s friends would ask if I was sick.  Did I eat enough?  My older brother teased me on the school bus –   ‘skinny minny’,’Olive Oyl’, ‘stick legs’, etc.  I hated being skinny.  Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Brigitte Bardot, even squeaky clean Doris Day had the curves that I did not!  One particular song of the 60’s era that seemed to be focused on me was titled “Skinny Legs and All” by Joe Tex.  One particular line of lyrics really hit home for this little small town girl who really didn’t have a whole lot of confidence or self esteem… “Now, you all know the lady with the skinny legs got to have somebody too, now”.
I guess what I am trying to say is that this problem has gone on for too many generations.  Too thick (new term for fat?), too thin, too tall, too short, too dark, too light, too smart, too dumb etc.  I am proud to have a talented, intelligent, beautiful daughter that is willing to take on this issue and put it out there for all to see.  To open her heart and say the things we are all afraid to say.  And most important, TO BE THE BEST WOMAN SHE CAN BE!

Oh, Mama – still sees me as the overachieving spelling bee, dance competition, singing competition winning queen I was.  Bless her for that.  As for her?  Tell me, is this woman more ass kicking Marilyn or Olive Oyl?


Exactly.  It’s all in the perception.  Love you, Mom!

This entry was published on July 11, 2013 at 5:12 pm. It’s filed under Bitchin' and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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