Being Your Own Best Friend: Body Snark

This weekend, I was lucky enough to spend a few days with my sister April and my best friend Katelyn. They had caravanned down from Northern California to check out some schools for April. We shared a lot of laughs, some good discussion, yummy food and relaxing time. Being among my besties was awesome because it made me realize how these gals have helped shape who I am. They love for me — not my blonde hair, or blue eyes, or the size of my jeans. On Sunday we were walking across the road to the Tamarack state beach. April and I had to change into bathing suits in the little public restroom. I mistakenly took April’s towel when I finished up, and she had to walk across the street to us with no towel to drape around herself. As she crossed the road in her cute blue tankini, I notice two gentlemen in a car check her out. When I told her this, she said, “No, they were probably looking at my fat thighs.”

Now, I can body-shame with the rest of ‘em. But I snapped to my sister, “April!!! Don’t say that about yourself. Would you say that to your best friend? Treat YOURSELF like your best friend.” Body-snark-police, I am. I think hearing my sister say that about herself was eye-opening for me because it reminded me of the very important reality that ultimately, who we love, respect and idolize in our lives has nothing to do with how they look. I love my sister for her love of singing, the inherent, ironic laziness we both share that never shows up at work and earns us accolades as extremely hard-working employees, but in our personal lives has us spending weekends in sweats. I love her for eco-enthusiasm, how she gets grumpy at me for using paper towels when I should just use washable dish rags. Despite finding her very beautiful, all of the things that make up April are not what’s on the outside. It wasn’t her thigh comment alone that inspired me to write this post. Tonight when I logged onto Facebook, a very respected friend of mine had posted that she was having trouble sleeping because of all the voices in her head telling her she wasn’t good enough. I reflected on this friend, just like I did with April above, and realized that despite her BEAUTIFUL outside, what I love about her is what’s on the inside. Her kick-ass dancing abilities, her sweet personality, the warm, inviting “Here, I’ll show you” persona that makes her an amazing teacher. We’re always so good about seeing the good in others, but how do we see the good in ourselves?

I think as women we need to work to change the dialogue in our heads, to make it NOT acceptable to become the body-snark authorities of our own selves. I’m guilty of this, too, and I’m sure I even snarked on myself several times through out the weekend. But when did it become a game to one-up each other on comments about how fat we are, how hooded our eyelids are, how oily our skin is, how blonde our hair is, how gross our pedicure looks, how long our arm hair is, how many freckles we have on our face? (Yep – every single one of these remarks was made this weekend among we three lovely women.) It’s not all our fault. It’s the magazines, the asshole ex boyfriend, the TV shows, the gossip rags, the radio shows, the “Well meaning” family member, the cosmetic companies, the diet pills, the fashion designers, the mean girls. No matter how far women come in their professional advancements, sitting next to male cabinet members and finding cures for diseases, we still decide that the sum of all of our parts is ultimately determined by our looks. This makes me feel all rage-y, and takes me back to the 15-year-old Alyssa who was dumped on AOL Instant Messenger by her first boyfriend for being a “feminazi”. I will proudly be a feminazi if it means declaring that we are enough as we are. That we don’t need to be 5’9, 125 pounds, perfectly tanned, with smooth hair, no flyaways, white teeth, a thigh gap, naturally rosy cheeks and big boobs. We ARE ENOUGH.

We can’t stop years of this bad habit overnight. Just as I overcame my habit of stress-eating, I’ll overcome the habit of body-snarking on myself. I’ve already gotten lots better, and now, when I catch myself dissing my bod’, I gently remind myself that I’m working on changing what I don’t like. I grew up in a beauty-positive household, one where my mom on a daily basis would comment on her beautiful daughters, how pretty we looked. I am thankful to my mom for that because I think despite my weight issues, I have a healthy self-esteem and confidence. I will always say the same things to my daughters and sons, because I know that even though my mom thinks on the outside we’re flawless, she really, truly sees what’s on the inside. Kindness, intelligence, compassion, courage, humor. Those are the things that make people beautiful in the way that makes you want to hold them near you. To be around them, to soak up their light. We don’t choose friends because of how they look, and if you do, you have some serious self-reflection to do. I’m challenging myself this week to be body-positive and to respectfully tell the body-snarking voice in my head to shut the eff up. You should do it, too. The world is a much friendlier place when we make peace with what we don’t like.

This post was also probably inspired by two awesome things I read this week:

1) The girl’s embarrassing photo went viral and she took charge to handle it. Read it and reap a good lesson (and note who she says most of the meant comments were from!).

2) I’m a big Amanda Palmer fan, and this weekend she wrote an open letter to Sinead O’Connor in response to O’Connor’s letter to Miley Cyrus. Palmer wrote about how rare it is to find female artists who have the balance of image/art and came back with a list of Women who Slay The Balance. Check it out here.

 

I can be a mean girl.

Greetings, friends! I can be a mean girl. Who, me? Yes, me! Read to find out why.

Y’all know I can be a little bit blunt. Sometimes, I lack a filter. It’s one of those traits of mine that’s either endearing or obnoxious, but as Lady Gaga says, I was born this way! Yesterday, my delightful friend Kelly came over for dinner. We were discussing Victoria’s Secret, and I complained that their bras don’t fit “fat-asses like me.”. “That is SO mean!”, she said. “What? That they don’t make my size?”, I asked, chewing my meatloaf nonchalantly. “No, that you would call yourself a fat ass! Even if you think it’s funny, how would you feel if I called you a fat ass?” I told her I’d kick her butt, and then I realized she’s right. It gave me some food for thought for a minute, until today when I blurted out that among the land of petite people (Asia), I would probably be a “large commodity”. My husband again pointed out that I was being mean to myself, and I thought, “Shucks! I AM being mean to myself.” Mean is not a trait I’d say I embody. I’m always the person who makes an effort to talk to the shy, to hold the door open, to compliment a new outfit. Sometimes I’m so nice it makes me angry with myself. But… Kelly pointed out that I’m a mean girl. To myself.

I am confident and pretty and usually feel attractive. So why am I calling myself mean names?

I usually consider myself extraordinarily positive with my self esteem. I know I’m attractive, beautiful even, and usually when I look in the mirror I feel good about myself – about my natural blonde curls, or my milky skin, or even the fine fringe of eyelashes that line my baby blues. Sadly, the negative thoughts I do have are always about my body. I’m always too big, or too fat, or thinking I’ll stand out because of my size. I’m a little bit early for New Year’s resolutions, but here’s one of the first for 2013 – Curb the negative self talk. It doesn’t help anybody and it certainly doesn’t make anyone laugh like I had hoped it would (ok, maybe my brother and sister laugh, but that’s only because we’ve made a national pastime about joking about our weight). Kelly and Matt are totally right – even if I make fun of myself in “humor”, somewhere, that message resonates with my brain and makes me feel even worse about it.

Rubens painted all of his ladies as full-figured and curvaceous. I was born in the wrong era!

So, the next time I complain about my rubenesque stature, I need to use words that are kinder. Not fat, not fat ass, not fatty, not huge, not gargantuan. More like, voluptuous, curvy, plus-sized, rubenesque, full-figured. Because even though my body may not fit into the ideal of what looks “pretty”, my body is pretty. I know this in my heart, and I need to make my thoughts match my mouth in the most positive way possible.

So let’s discuss – I’m sure I’m not the only female out there who has shamefully caught herself in negative self-talk. Do you ever find yourself dissing your body? Men, how about you?