The Weight of our Words
In case you're ever wondering what the rules of etiquette are for talking to a woman about her body or her weight, and especially for those who aren't wondering and think they already know, here are a few tips:
1. Don't.
2. Don't talk about her weight.
3. At all.
4. Unless you are her doctor or trainer or nutritionist... then it might be okay.
5. Otherwise, don't do it.
News flash- I'm pregnant. My body is doing the miraculous work of growing a baby, one that I hope and pray is healthy. If she is, she's getting bigger. If she's getting bigger, then I am too. That's the way it works. I can see this in the mirror as I try to find clothes in my closet that will stretch over her for the home stretch. I can feel it in my cankles and my puffy feet through long days of teaching. I notice as I'm trying to sneak through tight spaces but bulldoze instead and as I catch bits of lunch on the bump that might have previously fallen to the floor (talk about a win, right?). As sore and uncomfortable as I feel sometimes physically, I am also as comfortable as I have ever been in my skin. I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm continuously in awe of the things that you can push a human body to do.
That's why I can handle the comments and take them in stride (waddle) without also taking a hit to my self confidence. But I shouldn't have to. I'm not hurt; I'm pissed. After multiple comments today about how big I'm getting and how huge this baby must, I had finally had enough. When a coworker stopped me in the hallway to once again point out to me how large I am, I stopped her, looked her in the eye, and responded as nicely as I could muster, "That's not nice." She laughed it off, but I wasn't done because I wanted her to really hear me and think twice before making that kind of comment to someone else. I continued, "I would never say something like that to you." She doubled down, and I walked away.
At first, I stewed over and hypothesized about why being pregnant seems to give people the impression that it's acceptable to constantly comment on a woman's weight and a woman's body. This quickly moved into wondering why we ever feel as if this is an appropriate thing to do, pregnant or not. Twenty years and sixty pounds ago. I found people's "compliments" about my skinny frame equally as disturbing. No, I did not have an eating disorder or any body fat. Yes, I had a lot of trouble finding clothes that fit and even more trouble with my deep insecurities about the way that I looked and the people who constantly had to point it out.
It was even worse for one of my friends in college who actually had an eating disorder. Every time people had something to say about how amazing that "skinny bitch" looked, they were reinforcing her self-destructive behaviors. She was absolutely stunning on the outside but literally withering away and dying on the inside. And the outside too, really. Thank God she survived their compliments. Don't even get me started on the damage we have collectively done to my friends on the other end of the scale.
When I was discussing today's round of comments with a colleague, she said that these kinds of comments don't usually come from a bad place, and people say really awkward things when they don't know what to say. I completely agree. It's an unfortunate element of human nature, isn't it? We can learn, though. I ask my students to always write rules and norms focusing on positive language instead of just telling people what not to say. Maybe people could just use a little guidance with compliments they could give that don't mention weight or bodies, things we could use to acknowledge and build up each other.
For all of the cringy things that I've stomached about this big belly of mine over the past few months, I've also gotten to experience my fair share of sweetness. A different coworker that I don't interact with very often stopped me in the mail room last week just to tell me that there was something so happy and glowing coming off of me that it was truly beautiful. I carried that one with me and somehow felt lighter. It made my whole day.
If you want to tell me about my looks, tell me I look happy. Tell me I look strong. Tell me I look like I'm taking on a lot but I'm somehow surviving handling it well. Tell me I look capable. Powerful. Friendly. Badass. Sure, I wouldn't mind being pretty or looking good, but if you see any beauty in me, I hope that you can find it in my heart. Maybe if we can be better and more intentional in the things we say to each other, we'll also be better about the things we say to and about ourselves.
What is something good that someone has said to you that stuck with you more than the bad? What do you wish we would say to each other more?
1. Don't.
2. Don't talk about her weight.
3. At all.
4. Unless you are her doctor or trainer or nutritionist... then it might be okay.
5. Otherwise, don't do it.
News flash- I'm pregnant. My body is doing the miraculous work of growing a baby, one that I hope and pray is healthy. If she is, she's getting bigger. If she's getting bigger, then I am too. That's the way it works. I can see this in the mirror as I try to find clothes in my closet that will stretch over her for the home stretch. I can feel it in my cankles and my puffy feet through long days of teaching. I notice as I'm trying to sneak through tight spaces but bulldoze instead and as I catch bits of lunch on the bump that might have previously fallen to the floor (talk about a win, right?). As sore and uncomfortable as I feel sometimes physically, I am also as comfortable as I have ever been in my skin. I'm healthy, I'm happy, and I'm continuously in awe of the things that you can push a human body to do.
That's why I can handle the comments and take them in stride (waddle) without also taking a hit to my self confidence. But I shouldn't have to. I'm not hurt; I'm pissed. After multiple comments today about how big I'm getting and how huge this baby must, I had finally had enough. When a coworker stopped me in the hallway to once again point out to me how large I am, I stopped her, looked her in the eye, and responded as nicely as I could muster, "That's not nice." She laughed it off, but I wasn't done because I wanted her to really hear me and think twice before making that kind of comment to someone else. I continued, "I would never say something like that to you." She doubled down, and I walked away.
At first, I stewed over and hypothesized about why being pregnant seems to give people the impression that it's acceptable to constantly comment on a woman's weight and a woman's body. This quickly moved into wondering why we ever feel as if this is an appropriate thing to do, pregnant or not. Twenty years and sixty pounds ago. I found people's "compliments" about my skinny frame equally as disturbing. No, I did not have an eating disorder or any body fat. Yes, I had a lot of trouble finding clothes that fit and even more trouble with my deep insecurities about the way that I looked and the people who constantly had to point it out.
It was even worse for one of my friends in college who actually had an eating disorder. Every time people had something to say about how amazing that "skinny bitch" looked, they were reinforcing her self-destructive behaviors. She was absolutely stunning on the outside but literally withering away and dying on the inside. And the outside too, really. Thank God she survived their compliments. Don't even get me started on the damage we have collectively done to my friends on the other end of the scale.
When I was discussing today's round of comments with a colleague, she said that these kinds of comments don't usually come from a bad place, and people say really awkward things when they don't know what to say. I completely agree. It's an unfortunate element of human nature, isn't it? We can learn, though. I ask my students to always write rules and norms focusing on positive language instead of just telling people what not to say. Maybe people could just use a little guidance with compliments they could give that don't mention weight or bodies, things we could use to acknowledge and build up each other.
For all of the cringy things that I've stomached about this big belly of mine over the past few months, I've also gotten to experience my fair share of sweetness. A different coworker that I don't interact with very often stopped me in the mail room last week just to tell me that there was something so happy and glowing coming off of me that it was truly beautiful. I carried that one with me and somehow felt lighter. It made my whole day.
If you want to tell me about my looks, tell me I look happy. Tell me I look strong. Tell me I look like I'm taking on a lot but I'm somehow surviving handling it well. Tell me I look capable. Powerful. Friendly. Badass. Sure, I wouldn't mind being pretty or looking good, but if you see any beauty in me, I hope that you can find it in my heart. Maybe if we can be better and more intentional in the things we say to each other, we'll also be better about the things we say to and about ourselves.
What is something good that someone has said to you that stuck with you more than the bad? What do you wish we would say to each other more?
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