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What I Never Realized I Needed to Teach My Sons
November 17, 2016
Around the age of 8, I began to feel self-conscious about my body. It wasn’t a sudden revelation but rather a gradual accumulation of moments that shaped a perception I would struggle with for many years.
It all started when I stumbled upon a scale at a local vitamin store that offered insights into body fat percentage and bone mass for just a quarter. The figure that lingered in my mind was the claim that I was “9 pounds overweight.”
Then there was my mother, who effortlessly maintained a slim figure. I often joined her at the gym, clad in my colorful leotard and legwarmers, witnessing the aerobics boom of the ’80s firsthand. Our living room was filled with VHS tapes of Richard Simmons, where we danced along to “Sweatin’ to the Oldies.” My mom even included me in his Deal-A-Meal diet plan.
While I’m sure she stressed the importance of health, my young eyes were attuned to the prevailing culture that idolized thinness. I understood her concern was rooted in a desire to protect me from the teasing and shame she had seen her own mother endure. She feared I would face the same struggles, which, ironically, were passed down to me.
In hindsight, I know my mother aimed to instill a love for fitness and proper nutrition in me, hoping to spare me from the pain of societal rejection. But my teenage years were marked by images of models like Kate Moss, whose skeletal frames set an unattainable standard. I was never petite, inheriting my father’s sturdy build, which only fueled my feelings of inadequacy.
Living up to such impossible expectations is exhausting. Trust me; I’ve been doing it since I was eight. Now, as the mother of four sons, I often hear people express disappointment that I don’t have a daughter. My response is always the same: absolutely not.
Sure, there are moments I imagine sharing with a daughter, but having only sons has brought me a sense of relief. I thought I could shield them from these societal pressures. I believed I wouldn’t have to teach them about body acceptance, as boys seemed immune to the scrutiny of appearance.
I was wrong. Just last week, my 8-year-old son came home in tears. He’s tall and solidly built—not overweight by any means—but during playtime, a comment was made: “You’re fat.” Teasing ensued, and he returned home sobbing.
In that moment, my heart broke. I desperately reassured him, “But, sweetheart, that’s not true. You’re strong and healthy.” He pointed to his stomach, saying, “This? Is fat.”
It shattered me to realize he was grappling with the same insecurities I thought only girls faced. I had failed to protect him, assuming boys didn’t feel the pressure to conform to an ideal body image. I often let my sons poke at my own body, explaining that my curves didn’t define my worth. However, I never considered that they might need guidance on loving their own bodies.
I wish I could wrap this up with a neat lesson or advice, but I’m still navigating this journey myself. The truth is, discussions about body image are not limited to daughters; they’re equally vital for sons. So, don’t only focus on your daughters—your sons are observing, too.
If you’re interested in learning more about body positivity and health, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination. And if you’re looking to boost fertility, visit this authority on the topic.
In summary, we must recognize that body image issues can affect everyone, not just girls. As parents, it’s crucial to foster an environment where all children feel comfortable and confident in their own skin.