My tits are saggy.
My arms jiggle.
My kneecaps are loose.
My left pinky toe is crooked.
I mean, is there anything I like about ME?
Oh, ya!! I kinda, sorta…maybe like my legs. Oh, and my hair. I have great hair. NO, strike that! I USED to have great hair, until last week. I went to a new guy that chopped it off and now I look like a fucking dyke. A southern-bell dyke. NO offense gay women. I love you, and one of my very best friends in San Fran is gay. And she told me I could say “dyke”. Although when I texted her to ask, I spelled it “dike” which made her laugh. Ha. I thought it was DIKE. I’m so not a dyke. I can’t even spell it right! She’s a sexy-punky dyke, though. She has AMAZINGLY-hot short hair. It’s so hot. And she is hot. But I am not. I look like Barbie-dyke….so I digress, I used to have great hair. Now I don’t even have that going for me. But I could be a lesbo. #dropthemic
Why do we do as women beat ourselves up so badly?
I just read the most fabulous article.
It was in the Huffington Post, about how to talk to our daughters about their bodies. I’ll attach the link, because I’m gonna be referring to it like a gazillion times. It made me cry, like literally…tears. Even though I don’t have a girl, it still hit home. I think back to my childhood, when I wasn’t allowed to have sugar cereal. Or Oreos. Or Fruit Roll-Ups. Or pop. I mean, who was? What kid was allowed to eat all that gross shit? Not me! And my Mom was a good mom. I learned from the best, NO SUGAR. She made all our meals, and we ate at 5:30 every night. And we hardly ever were allowed to have dessert. Special occasions. And with four kids, we never went out to dinner! I mean, no way! It was too expensive. Go, Trish…She’s a rock star.
But then this happened:
I searched for the shit. I looked for the sugar I didn’t get at home. I went on carb hunts…the minute I left my house, I was on the prowl. I remember getting to my best friend’s house, and asking for a snack! We would open her pantry…and it was like I hit the Junk Food Jackpot, bitches! I would carb-load, while she just watched. Hunts pudding, blueberry Bubbleicious…omg, it was like I had never had sugar in my life. And I was happy. We would make up dances, play Barbie’s …and I’d leave. But not before snagging one last Oreo from the cookie jar.
And then, in middle school…when I got to buy lunch, it was a bagel and chocolate chip cookie. Oh, and chocolate milk. And I remember my mom asking, “Did you have a healthy lunch today?” Sure, thing! And I’d get chocolate donuts before school in the morning, too. Fuck. And I wasn’t even a “porky kid”. Nope! I danced for exercise. Danced, and danced….and danced. And I was growing, too! Until I stopped. And at 5’4″ the “secret-carbs” I was bingeing started to catch up with me. And I started to notice my tush getting bigger, the number on the scale getting higher…
I hated my body.
But who’s fault was it? I read this article today, and can’t blame my mom. Or how she limited our sugar intake. I mean, don’t all moms want healthy kids? In fact, it was her saying “everything in moderation” that I clearly remember. She never said I was fat. Never. But here’s the thing, what I read in this article: it’s not what you DON’T say, y’all. It’s what you DO. It’s what you say to your daughters, and how you say it. It’s about not talking about weight at all! Crazy, right? Do you know how many times I say, “Omg, I’m so fat?” It’s like the worst thing you can say in front of your kids! Teach your kids to be kind to themselves. Putting yourself down isn’t being NICE to YOURSELF! And stop talking about YOUR dieting. Just talk about being healthy. Make healthy meals, with good food. Don’t obsesses about not eating sugar, or not eating carbs…or that new shake plan. Or that new crazy-ass pill. Lordy.
I loved this article, Huff Po! I just loved it. Cook with real butter, order your omelette with oil! HOOORAY! Teach your daughters to get outside and play soccer, and do Pilates…and paint her own deck. (I painted my own deck.) And my hair isn’t that bad. I do like my legs, they’re clearly the best thing I’ve got. And I don’t have saggy tits. In fact, I had them done. And that’s ok, too. Teach your daughters that if they feel like fixing something….The Truth Hurvitz says, it’s ok. As long as she pays for it herself. ha. ;)