Body Shaming: What Is It and Why Do We Do It?

Body Shaming: What Is It and Why Do We Do It?

**NOTE: Most of my blog posts have been about health and wellness.  I try to keep things light and share ideas and topics that I feel are helpful.  I wrote this one several months ago and have been hesitant about posting. This one is unique in that it is a little more personal, but in the effort to always be real and honest; whole body health includes our mental and emotional states as well. This, I thought I would share. 

Recently, I had an event to go to— the kind of event that isn’t appropriate for blue jeans but not elegant enough for a dress. Yes, the middle kind of event that would require dress pants, which by the way, I do not own. 

As a Pilates instructor, I wear leggings all day. I have about 30 pairs of leggings. I also own about 13 pairs of jeans, because I have a denim obsession. What I don’t have in my wardrobe are dress pants. The last dress pants I bought were purchased over five years ago; they oddly enough look like leggings with pockets. So, I thought it might be a good idea to purchase something that I could wear for these occasions. 

After I bought my “not leggings” dress pants, I ran into an old friend who was working at this large department store. She shared with me the kinds of comments that she hears from women all day long. They look in the mirror and point out all the little parts of their bodies they do not love and then beat themselves up for not being perfect. 

I work in an environment that is all about your body, so I am keenly aware of how women talk to themselves, but my clients don't try on clothes and stare at themselves in the mirror. We have all been there: that cute dress or those pants we see on the hanger and are dying to try on just don’t seem to look good on, so we think there is something wrong with us.

I realized that even I—someone who is tall, thin and in shape—haven’t always loved my body. I don’t hate it, but I didn’t love it either. People may look at me and think, how could that be? I realized why: I have been taught from an early age to complain and to demonize my body. It’s what every teenage girl did in the bathroom at high school. It was accepted and expected to do so. Girls could compliment other girls, but we couldn’t proudly admire ourselves. We could say that another girl’s outfit was cute or her hair or makeup was perfect. In response, she would complain about some small flaw instead of saying thank you. If a girl did admire herself, she was considered vain or stuck-up. 

We weren’t taught to love ourselves, and as such, we are continuing to perpetuate the problem to other women and our children. 

So, although I have a tall and lean figure, it’s still hard to love it. I was never taught to. I never knew how. 

I am sure most women feel the same way. Inside, they know I speak the truth. 

Somehow, I had to get to the bottom of this. 

How does this exist in our culture? The first thought is that as women, we are taught from an early age not to boast, to be polite, to be soft, and not to be rough. We are not ego-driven; that is for men. 

Guys in gyms lift heavy weights, scream and yell then drop them on the mats. They work out with each other and call each other bros. They fist bump, flex their muscles in the mirror and admire themselves.  Ok, not all men, but you get the picture. Most men don’t knick pick at themselves. Their self esteem comes from a completely different place where ours is always about how we look.

We care about how we look, but why? Is it because, if we look perfect, it means more friends? A great boyfriend? An amazing job? 

Honestly, I am not sure. I can only speak from my own experiences. 

My mother was not much for preening in front of the mirror. She was a working mom and although she had my dad for support, she was pulling a lot of double duty, teaching and taking care of three kids. She never put herself first. Although she never demonized herself or criticized me or my sister, she also didn’t show us the other side: how to love yourself. 

So, while my mom was working, I taught myself how to shave my legs and put makeup on. I experimented with styles and fashion. Some of these choices were questionable—bright-blue eye shadow anyone? Others not so bad, like little black cocktail dresses. I always admired other women and tried to emulate a style or a look they had. I was always trying to look like someone else. Fashion and clothes aside, there were always things I wanted to improve or change. 

It really wasn’t until my mid- to late-30s that I decided to cut a lot of the negative self-talk out. I had a great job, a wonderful husband, two beautiful boys, and the career of my choice, but  I still wasn’t happy. I would look in the mirror and get ready and do all the things I had done before, but  I didn’t recognize myself. The outside was beautiful but I didn’t feel that way on the inside. 

No matter how much time I took trying to make the outside look the way I wanted it to, it really didn’t change how I felt inside.

So, after some major life changes, this has all changed for me. After two kids, the end of my marriage, my father’s passing and some career setbacks, I really don’t care. Don’t take this the wrong way. Caring for self rather than caring for an unattainable if not empty goal is something different. 

I care enough to age gracefully, but not without time spent being held accountable that my inside and outside have to match. I work so much more on being the person I want to be in my actions, in my choices, in my friendships, and in my career. I work at caring for others just as much as I work at caring for myself. My goals have changed, and in doing so, I feel different. I look in the mirror and see the person I am and continue to strive for. The work all comes from the inside. I enjoy getting ready as a ritual of self-care and self-love, not to impress anyone. If someone says something nice, I try to say thank you without demonizing another part of me. It’s still hard to take compliments and there are things I can get caught up on, but overall, I’m happy with myself.

My body is older; it shows it’s life. The skin is starting to sag in areas. The tummy has been stretched from children, there is the number 11 between my eyes. My hormones are starting to play tricks on me as I come closer to menopause. Some clothes don’t quite always fit my tall figure, and I struggle as any woman does in the department store. One size does not fit all. I see my mother’s chin lines forming on my face and my dad’s bags under my eyes. I am so thankful that I have them and I am getting older, hopefully wiser and more content. I look at other beautiful women and admire them without feeling jealousy or a need to change myself. Those beautiful women are all shapes and sizes and ages. 

In the end, there is no shame, because I have nothing to be ashamed about. I am caring for myself, for those around me, and continuing to strive for beauty on the inside and hopefully doing all that with grace.