Every time I pour a glass of milk, a wave of guilt washes over me. For me, milk is tied to one of the earliest memories of body shaming I endured. Back in kindergarten, I asked a trusted adult for a glass of milk. Instead of the nutritious beverage I craved, she replied, “Milk is meant to make little cows grow big and fast. You’re already big enough, so you don’t need milk,” and handed me a Diet Coke instead.
That moment, an adult who should have cared for me, allowed me to miss out on essential nutrients like calcium, vitamin D, and protein—all for a can of artificially flavored soda that wouldn’t contribute to my health. Now, three decades later, I still hesitate every time I drink the leftover milk from my cereal bowl, haunted by her words: “Milk has one purpose.”
I grew up seeing advertisements proclaiming, “Milk: It Does A Body Good,” yet that single encounter at five years old made me painfully aware that my body didn’t fit the narrative they promoted. To me, milk is forever associated with body shame—and that’s incredibly frustrating.
Now as a mother of two sons and a daughter, it pains me to know I can’t completely shield them from the body shame I experienced. Within the safety of our home, every body is celebrated, but once we step outside, I can’t protect them from the culture that shattered my self-esteem. They will hear the same messages about bodies like mine that I internalized growing up.
This morning, my eight-year-old pointed out that his substitute teacher was overweight. He exclaimed, “Mom, you have to see her! She’s beautiful! She looks just like you! She has your hair and makeup style. She’s even fat like you!” Initially, I was relieved that he viewed “fat” as a neutral descriptor. However, I noticed his expression change as he quickly backtracked, asking, “Is it okay to say that? Some people use ‘fat’ meanly, but I just meant it normally, not in a bad way. Fat isn’t a bad word, right?”
I explained, “It’s only a bad word if you believe being fat is negative. Some people do, so they see it as a bad word. I think of fat as neutral. It’s just another descriptor, like tall or blonde, when talking about bodies.”
It breaks my heart to see how early diet culture has affected him. Before he even finished second grade, he realized that society views his fat mother as inferior to a thinner one. Diet culture is a nightmare.
I hope that living in an inclusive environment with positive body messages will spare my kids some of the struggles I faced. Yet the world hasn’t changed enough. If any of my children gains weight, they will have to learn to love their bodies in a society that prizes thinness and stigmatizes fatness.
I know they will eventually stand before a mirror and scrutinize their bodies, likely focusing on perceived flaws while I see only perfection. This insecurity can impact my sons and my daughter alike, but my daughter will face more pressure if her body doesn’t align with societal ideals. My sons will often find validation in their intelligence and abilities, while my daughter will need to assert herself and reject being seen as merely decorative. I want her to understand that her worth is independent of societal beauty standards.
Despite my best efforts, I can’t completely shield my children from diet culture, and it infuriates me. What I can do is model the fight against it. I want to ensure they grow up unafraid to enjoy their cereal milk because of someone’s hurtful words.
If anyone dares to utter a negative comment about my children’s bodies in my presence, I will defend them fiercely. They may not forget the comment, but they will remember how their mother stood up for them without hesitation. I can’t protect them from all body shaming, but I can teach them that those who judge based on appearance are ignorant and wrong. The lesson they’ll learn is not about their bodies, but about those who think it’s acceptable to criticize others based on their size.
I’m not afraid to confront anyone who threatens my children’s self-esteem. I may not relish conflict, but I will charge into battle for their self-worth every time. No matter who you are, if you say something that could plant seeds of insecurity in my kids, I will shut that down immediately. And if I hear about it later, be prepared for my wrath—I have the skills to take down diet culture, and I will use them against anyone who tries to undermine my children’s confidence.
My children will always hear me advocate for their right to exist in their bodies, and they will hear me speak positively about the vessels that hold their true selves. If you’re a decent human being, you should also be willing to apologize for any harmful comments because it takes audacity to body shame a child. Who would ever tell a growing child that their body is anything but good? Maybe it’s best to refrain from commenting on children’s bodies altogether; it’s often just plain creepy.
I refuse to let my children grow up burdened by body shame without putting up a fierce fight. Kids’ bodies are inherently good. How can we think we have the right to tell them otherwise?
Search Queries:
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Summary:
In this heartfelt piece, the author reflects on her childhood experiences with body shaming and vows to protect her children from similar negativity. She shares a poignant moment when her son innocently pointed out that his teacher resembled her, highlighting the societal pressures surrounding body image. The author emphasizes the importance of fostering a positive home environment while acknowledging the challenges posed by external societal norms. Ultimately, she is committed to defending her children’s right to embrace their bodies and to combat the pervasive influence of diet culture.