Bodily Harm

I often process my thoughts and emotions in words. A lot of times this means I have to talk and talk about something until my listener wants to run away. This is where writing helps.

Right now, my brain is like one of those old computers when you first turn them on. It makes noise and lights blink, but you can’t do anything because it is still booting up and won’t let you.

I’m consumed right now. I feel heartbroken, guilty and angry. In fact, it feels a bit like rage.

One of the new punishments I dish out for my kids is picking out their clothes for school after they commit some sort of infraction. For Eli this is absolute torture (I pick jeans instead of cool-kid sweats). Unfortunately, I’m finding Marina enjoys the break from early-in-the-day decision-making.

This morning while I was going through this exercise, I gave her a shirt to put on. After she tried it on, she said she didn’t like it because it makes her look fat. At first my brain didn’t process what she said because it was so unexpected. I made her repeat herself. As the words sunk in, my body had a physical reaction. My stomach felt anxious and sick; I could feel my pulse in my neck.

For those who don’t know my children, Marina is 8 years old and in third grade. She has always been the smallest person in her class and has never been above the 3^rd percentile on the growth or weight charts. I buy her size 6 clothes, which is pretty much what a kindergarten or first grader wears. She is shaped like a child.

After hearing Marina’s words, I quickly (and likely too forcefully) told her she was NOT fat. Not even close. I told her she is a tiny person and is shaped exactly how she is supposed to be. She mumbled in return that a girl told her she was fat, that her shirt was too tight on her stomach. I think my eyeballs must have caught fire because she immediately told me she didn’t remember who it was who said it.

Full disclosure: my first impulse was to totally trash this little anonymous girl – to tell my daughter the girl’s a little a-hole. Then I wanted to go find her and be one of those parents who runs onto the football field in the middle of the game to tackle a youth player.  

Today is March 2. This apparently happened maybe sometime in September -- at least six months ago. Marina has had these words in her head since then, all without saying anything. She hasn’t forgotten them and they obviously are informing her decisions on clothing.

Instead of cussing and ruthlessly belittling that girl (a heroic feat), I reinforced my statement on her body, let her have some input in the shirt I chose for her, then left the room. I went and stood in my closet and felt like weeping. I felt like something had been irreparably broken. My beautiful girl had been tainted.

The clear-thinking part of me can feel some sorrow for the nasty little girl. What has her life been that she holds a body standard that Marina does not meet? That she should inflict it on any 8-year-old!?  What messages has she heard?

Then I realized something. Marina may have heard the shirt comment directed at her, but how many times before that has she heard me talk about how my pants are too tight, about how I ate 400 cookies and am now obese. I am verbally heaping body-shame on myself all day long. It’s been a habit of a lifetime. It is a self-effacing humor that has been a way of life for me. This is the trash with which I have filled her ears.

For as long as I can remember, I have compared my body to other people’s and determined myself to be lacking. I remember barely eating for a period in high school and getting dizzy all the time as a result. Just two days ago, I looked at a celebrity’s Instagram page for hours – all her skinny, pretty pictures, her amazing cooking. Right after, I went into my bedroom and announced to Mark that I’m a fat, worthless human, then told him we were eating macaroni and cheese with hot dogs chunks for dinner the next day.

This has been a way of life for not only me, but pretty much all the women I know. It’s kind of a funny game we all play with each other. Eat cake and complain about tight pants, repeat. It hasn’t been really concerning because that’s how everyone thinks.

Until today. Until I hear it from my 8-year-old’s mouth and feel completely defeated and broken by it. I don’t want her to feel this way. It’s like the door is open and there is no closing it. That lack of awareness has been removed. I don’t want her to launch into years of not feeling good enough, learning to fold her arms across her stomach when she sits down, of standing in front of the mirror and grabbing her thighs from behind so it looks like they don’t touch.

This all makes me sick, like I want to cry for her. Like I want to cry for the high school me.

While I have been wringing my hands all day, wishing I could erase the harm that has been done to my child, this Bible verse keeps popping in my head.

Psalm 139:13-14 – For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.

Fearfully and wonderfully made all the time. Not just when your pants fit.

Oh my little girl, please cover your ears and your eyes. Please don’t believe the lie that you are not good enough. And to myself… please understand you are fighting the battle for more than just yourself, you fight for the little one who is watching you. So SHUT UP!