"Real" Women

I started a kerfuffle yesterday. I didn't mean to. I was commenting on this post:



In my own clumsy fashion I stated that the tall, skinny women we see in print ads are NOT real. I recognize that this was a tangent from the intent of the original post. Perhaps it was somewhat defensive. I have and do use the term "real" women. My intent, though, was an allusion the fact that those images of women have been radically altered post-production.

Unfortunately, my effort instead upset the Original Poster, who -- being a tall, skinny woman -- took me to task for not respecting women on the other end of the physical spectrum from me, thereby perpetuating the very culture of discrimination which I deride.

She is right. Referring to larger, curvier -- fatter -- women as "real" does devalue those who don't fit that image. And that's not my intent. I strongly believe that women in all shapes and sizes are beautiful and should be appreciated as they are.

I apologized and posted nothing further. But the conversation has continued in my head, and here in the comfort of my own blog, I am going to say two things:

1) I maintain that the women we see in print media AREN'T real. In the insular world of photo editing and "fashion" the ideal of a woman has shifted to a point that is beyond the reach of human physiognomy. They are physically impossible. I mean no disrespect to the women who are the beginning point for those images. But after seeing videos like this:  

there is no way to say that the pictures to which we all are compared are "real". It doesn't matter that the woman in front of the camera is a living, breathing person. The end result bears no resemblance to her, and saying that the billboard is fake is no reflection on her. If my daughter draws a crayon picture of me with snakes for hair and orange skin, and you say "that isn't a real person", I understand that you are not negating me, just acknowledging that the picture has no correlation with my true physical characteristics. Images can be powerful symbols, and as an educated, critical, thoughtful consumer, I look at magazines and try to keep in mind that the women in those pages have been made into symbols of a idealized, generic, and ultimately (to me) boring, standard of "beauty".

2) Of course Photoshopping is a disservice to every woman. That said, I still argue that the trend toward slimmer and longer as the ideal is more harmful to "larger" women because it removes them (us) even farther from the standard by which we are collectively measured. "Curvy women" are obviously, deliberately, absent from every one of those pages and as Photoshopping becomes more extreme, curves are quite literally being wiped out of the picture. Layered on top of that are the cultural biases toward fat people, which do not apply to skinny people. Yes, I am familiar with, I even have used, the term "skinny bitch". I can imagine the pressure to eat, the comments about anorexia and bulemia. With some thought and awareness I can begin to deconstruct my beliefs about health and how I negatively apply them to slender women. In analyzing myself, though, I also see that I believe slender women are more attractive and perceive them as energetic and healthier, as well as better leaders.

The same does not hold true for fat women. I had the awful opportunity to discuss our collective cultural bias with my own son when he was about eight years old. My boy is brutally honest, and one day we were talking about an overweight person. The words he used included: lazy, greedy, dirty, unhealthy, and stupid. My son is not unique in those impressions. I recognize that have internalized them about myself, even though intellectually I could argue that none of those characteristics apply to me. Still, when I look in the mirror, both before and after having recently lost roughly 40 pounds, I see a fat lazy slob who doesn't take care of herself and obviously isn't as bright as someone who weighs another 40 lbs less.

I joke sometimes that I come from sturdy breeding stock, and I take pride in my physical strength. But as a teenager I thought my broad hips were a sign that I was fat. I was sixteen, 5'7" tall, and I worked out every day. I was an "ideal" 145 lbs. I could count my ribs. Still, I thought I was overweight. That was the year I heard this joke, which I have carried with me for 25 years:
     Q: How are a carousel and a fat girl alike?
     A: They're fun to ride, but you wouldn't want your friends to know.
I don't know how many opportunities I have let pass because of the shame that one joke engendered in me. I don't remember a day in my life when I haven't looked in a mirror and felt less attractive because of my size. On good days I don't feel pretty because of my shape, but in spite of it.

That is why I started using the term "real" when talking about women who look like me. By calling myself real I was both reclaiming myself and using my new found power to try and stake a claim for "real" women in the magazines. My intent was that the pictures my children encounter would reflect the beautiful diversity of women in this world, and would help my daughter in particular to recognize her own beauty, no matter what size she may grow to be.

Having said all that, I have to admit that the OP was right. Tall and Skinny girls aren't imaginary. We are all real women. We must stand together to fight the nonsense about beauty which is thrust down our collective throats. We all are beautiful, with our curves and sags and wrinkles and bones and freckles and pointy chins and tree-like height. So, rather than eliminating the term "real" from my vocabulary, I will choose instead to apply it to all the living, breathing, beautiful women I see. And I will teach my children to carefully consider the messages they ingest from the media around them. I will teach them to see with a critical eye, and to find beauty in the truth rather than the story they are told.

So It Begins

Miss Awesome and I had a fight this morning. It was stupid, supposedly about her refusal to help empty the dishwasher but really about the tantrums she throws in an effort to get out of doing things she doesn't want to do. I sent both of us to our rooms to calm down, but not until after I'd gotten big and loud and maybe a little mean.

I angrily folded laundry for a while, and when my tears stopped and I could think straight again, I knocked on her door. I found her crouched over her Halloween stash, tearfully stuffing candy in her face. I took the sweets away, told her to apologize to her brother, and drifted back to my room. I was appalled that at age seven my daughter already is eating to deal with her emotions.

After another little while I returned to her room, lay down on the bed and held her. I told her I always love her. I apologized for being mean, but explained that she is part of the family and as such she is required to help out, whether or not she likes the task at hand. She apologized, too. We eventually worked our way back to equilibrium. 

When we were safe again, I asked about the candy. "It makes me feel good and helps me stop crying." she explained. I cringed inside, hearing such a simple truth from such a young girl. I know the physiology of it, how the sugar activates feel-good brain centers. How humans are pleasure-seeking animals. How this is natural and instinctive. I also know how devastating such a habit can be over the course of a lifetime. 

Until now I've tried to make food a neutral topic, neither good nor bad but a tool. Like all tools, food can be used well -- providing good nutrients that keep us strong and healthy -- or badly -- not giving us the energy we need and leading to weakness and unhealthiness. I've encouraged the kids to eat balanced meals and allowed sweets in moderation. Knowing that balance occurs over a lifetime, I've had some suppers that were awful nutritionally (but oh, so tasty!) and others that were nothing but vegetables (and just as tasty). Food is never good or bad, and certainly never "fattening". It's just healthy or less healthy. Through it all I've tried not to talk about anyone's appearance in terms of size or shape. I've been quiet about my own self-image and body issues. I make sure to show the kids a variety of body types as beautiful and healthy. I've taken great care to speak positively about my strength and abilities. My recent weight loss has been a private triumph of which the kids have been blessedly oblivious. 

But this morning I broke my self-imposed rule and talked about my weight. I told Miss Awesome that I got fat because I ate when I was sad, instead of addressing the underlying issues. I didn't eat healthy foods, and had too much candy. Over the years my body carried the bad decisions I made. I explained that it's better to cry all her tears out, take a breath, and deal with whatever made her sad. That food is not the answer. I admitted that sometimes I go into the bathroom and cry until I'm done, and then I can talk about whatever is upsetting me. I told her it took me a lifetime to learn, but candy is a treat, not a treatment.

Our conversation slowly meandered away from candy and eating, and after more cuddles we moved on to other activities. Violet reclaimed her candy with a promise not to eat too much, and I took that at face value. In the end I can only advise, not control. Still, I worry that she will follow me down the sedentary path, swallowing her sorrows, afraid to face her feelings. Like all parents I wish only the best for my child. Strange that a good cry and an empty belly are on that list.

Why I Don't Go To the Doctor

Ten years ago, I had a first visit with a new doctor. Before any examination took place, he met with me (fully clothed!) in his office, and we chatted. Dr. E got to know me a little. And I got comfortable enough with him that I mentioned my weight. He surprised me by saying that he wasn't terribly worried; health was more important than a specific weight.

I would have followed him anywhere.

Even though he wasn't an internist, I considered Dr. E my primary care physician. He guided me through two pregnancies with minor complications, and I saw him routinely. I could address any question to him. But two years ago he retired. Sure I still get my annual exam from the doctors in that office, but it's not the same.

Prior to meeting Dr. E, I was haunted by previous experiences with a number of doctors, who immediately assumed that any issue was a symptom of my weight. Allergies? I must eat too much. Earaches? Get more exercise. A sinus infection? Lay off the ice cream. Apparently, I was so big even bacteria couldn't escape my gravitational field.

Which is why, for me, going to the doctor is a lot like being sent to the principal.

But I've not been feeling quite right. And, to be honest, I've gained even more weight. It's time to take care of myself. So, I screwed up my courage, made an appointment, and today I had a physical.

I'll get the results from the blood work tomorrow. In the meantime, the numbers in the office were good. Low blood pressure, resting heart rate of 60, great health history. I walked a 1/2 marathon last spring, and am in training to run a 1/2 this spring. I don't smoke or drink. I eat lots of vegetables. I don't drink juice or soda, and mostly avoid junk food. I am, for all intents and purposes, healthy. Despite all that, the only thing the doctor wanted to know is: am I trying any programs to lose weight?

I must be broken, because I am obese. My weight is the only consideration.

And I wonder, why in all my years I've only ever met one doctor who looked at my self first, and then at my body. Because I know I need help, but if you only see a number on a scale, doctor, then how am I going to be comfortable talking to you about what to do?

I'll go back and try and work with this doctor. But I'll miss Dr. E every time.