Photo by Irina Murza on Unsplash

By Jennifer Landis

My daughter is 5 now, and she’s reaching that age where she really starts paying close attention to the words I say. She’s great at mimicking them, whether I want her to or not. That’s why I am so careful to not say F-word around her.

No, this word is not fuck. I’ll say fuck every day of the week and twice on Sundays. If I stub my toe or get cut off in traffic, all bets are off. While I don’t want my daughter repeating my F-bombs, there is one word in my book that is worse than fuck. What is it, and why won’t I say it around my girl?

The Forbidden F-Word

The one F-word that I won’t say around my daughter only has three letters, but it’s a four-letter word in my book.

It’s F-A-T.

I won’t ever say the word “fat” with a negative connotation around my daughter. I won’t ever call myself fat, or let anyone tell her in a disappointing tone that she’s getting chubby for her age. I will legit fight you if you try to negatively comment on my girl’s weight—whatever her size.

I grew up with a mom who called herself fat with a capitol “F”. She checked her weight every morning before she got in the shower, exercised with Richard Simmons VHS tapes every afternoon and counted every single calorie she ate

I still can’t listen to “California Dreamin’” because of those stupid exercise tapes.

Growing up, I didn’t think much of it. It was just Mom—it was what she did, and how she faced the world every day. It wasn’t until I had a child of my own that I realized how much hearing my mom call herself fat all the time fucked me up

Growing up F-A-T

My mom never called me fat, at least not outright. For her, it was giving me a smaller portion of dessert because “I don’t want you to get chubby,” or “I don’t want you to look like me when you grow up.” I grew up with that fear of getting F-A-T hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles. I couldn’t enjoy food because if I ate too much of it, I’d end up like my mom—hating myself and trying everything in the book to try and lose a few pounds.

I didn’t realize it, but even as an adult, that self-hatred was ingrained in my psyche. I would turn down cookies or tasty treats and spend at least an hour every single day at the gym. The funny thing was that I looked great by society’s warped standards—I was at a “healthy” body weight—trim and toned. I wasn’t an athlete, but I wouldn’t get shit for wearing a bikini or a crop top.

I also grew up in the first generation that spent most of its time indoors. Outdoor play has decreased by 71% between my mom’s time and mine. We’d rather stay inside, watch television, and talk on the phone instead of playing outside and moving our bodies.

When I got pregnant with my daughter, I had a plan to lose the “baby weight” almost as soon as that test stick showed up positive. I was going to eat healthily and exercise through my pregnancy, and then I was going to do whatever it took to get my body back into “shape” after I gave birth.

As with most things, it didn’t actually work that way. I craved sweets, so of course I indulged. I was quite a bit rounder after my daughter was born. Gaining the weight that I didn’t realize was so necessary for my body to nourish a growing human being.

As soon as I saw her, all pink and swaddled and looking up at me like I was the only thing in the universe, my whole outlooked changed.

The Power of Body Positivity and Neutrality

Looking down at that little girl changed the way I thought about myself. I had spent 40 weeks growing this amazing little human being in my womb. I was a damn superhero. I also started to realize how much my upbringing had skewed my idea of what I should look like. I started seeing social media posts about the body positive movement— the power of loving yourself no matter how you looked—and it sparked an epiphany.

Growing up, it had never occurred to me that I could love my body when I didn’t look like a swimsuit model. It blew my mind.

Looking down at my daughter, I realized right then that she would never hear the word “fat” in a negative way coming out of my mouth. When I had my second daughter that only strengthened my resolve. I wouldn’t become my mother, not in the way she had thought of my size when I was growing up.

 

Looking Forward

My youngest daughter isn’t old enough to understand the bad version of the F-word that I’ve banned from my vocabulary, but she will grow up. I don’t want either of my girls to worry about their weight, especially when we live in a society that values static photoshopped beauty over the enjoyment of life. If I work out, it’s to get stronger and be present in my body, not to lose weight. I’ll teach my girls to strive for strength and fitness over unattainable beauty standards—and they’ll never hear me say the word fat as a bad thing.

. . .

Jennifer Landis is a blogger, writer, and girl mom raising her two daughters to be proud of the skin they are in. She enjoys tacos, hot tea, and binge watching The Great British Baking Show. Find more from Jennifer at her blog, Mindfulness Mama or follow her on Twitter @JennfElandis.