The Fat Girl's Guide to Living

Enjoying a first: lounging and reading at the pool

On the first day of summer, the solstice marking the longest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, I’d like to talk about laziness. Not the unproductive sloth that gets us into trouble, but some well-deserved rest and relaxation. Are you getting enough? I know I’m usually not, but this summer, my annual pool passes became golden tickets to be lazy on a weekly basis.

For years, I’ve gazed longingly through kid-made tidal waves at the women lounging poolside, napping or reading. Meanwhile, my boys required constant supervision, reassurance and modeling that hey, this putting our faces in the water deal isn’t so bad after all. But this is my year: not only did I purchase an adorable tankini on sale based on Angela’s recommendations in our Guide to Figure-Flattering Swimwear, but my kids are old enough to splash around in the zero depth pool without my help or encouragement. This means I’m officially one of the Lounging Moms, and it feels fantastic. Sure, I still jump in to splash around with the kids, but now there is a nice balance between getting cannonballed and catching up on summer reading while visiting with my fellow Lounging Moms.

What about you, girls? Do you have an unexpected license to be lazy this summer? What’s it like? And if not, how can you squeeze some lazy days into your summer?

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Charlie’s daughter strikes a pose as a “sailor boy”

If I may say so, my four-year-old daughter is a well-rounded kid. She loves trains (courtesy of my love for them), cars, tools (the toy ones), and squirt guns. (Unlike a lot of parents, we’re not anti-water gun, we just make sure she understands that there exists a world of difference between water and bullets.) While she loves foam pirate swords, the hard plastic variety hold no interest because they can actually hurt someone. Tori also adores old cars, mostly because she loves Ruby, my 1972 Ford Maverick (yes, it’s got a child safety seat aboard) and can’t wait till she’s old enough to sit up front.

When it comes to toys, games, and activities, we try to balance the passive (TV watching and online games) with the active (swimming, biking, hiking, and climbing) and imaginative (pretending, role-playing, reading, and puzzle-solving). We’ve limited the overtly commercial franchises where possible, but the “princess phase” is perhaps unavoidable in little girls, and suppressing it seems as gender-biased as forcing it. Disney’s prices have done a great job of keeping our supply of DVDs to a minimum, but even the casual observer will find that Tori likes magic wands, Hello Kitty, and Tinkerbell. Again, telling her this stuff is too passive or girly seems just as silly as strapping boxing gloves on her, so we let her enjoy it.

My only reservation about her ideas on gender roles lies in some of the “rules” she recites once in awhile. She’s fond of saying “girls like pink and boys don’t” or “boys can’t have long hair.” We’re quick in every case to point out clear examples in her life where these rules don’t apply. She knows several boys with long curly hair and others who like pink better than blue. I’m not sure if she’s getting these stereotypes from school or TV, but they don’t go unchallenged around here. In fact, at age 4, Tori’s already been to a gay pride parade so she could meet some “princesses” (i.e., full-on drag queens) first-hand, which was more a shock to them than to her.

My most deeply held dreams for my daughter have little to do with gender-based ideals or roles, however.

Be fierce. Be strong, Be compassionate. Be curious.

These are the things I want for my daughter. Other fathers likely have similar lists. Like many dads, I wonder how I’ll handle the various milestones in my daughter’s life: her first date, her first time driving solo, the day she sets out on her own. Then there’s all the body image issues that begin early and seem to challenge a woman’s self-image throughout her lifetime: How do I protect her from the shame and self-loathing so common among women in our society? Can I? Should I?

Above all, I want Tori to have a strong sense of self, a trust for her own gut instinct, and enough confidence to resist measuring herself against someone else’s yardstick. But the power of the media is strong: fashion magazines, diet plan come-ons, and “reality” programming are tough to avoid. I’ve always believed that the fashion industry is one of the biggest cons ever perpetrated upon humanity, and while many disagree, I’m not afraid to say so. My motto: dress comfortably, wear what makes you happy, and screw what others think or say. Of course, regardless of what I think, people do measure each other by fashion. But I want Tori to know a few things when she makes her fashion choices:

1. Barbie is NOT a rational beauty standard,

2. All those photos in fashion magazines and on billboards are Photoshopped,

3. Every culture views physical beauty differently,

4. Your peers are just as frightened and confused as you are, and

5. You may not always be proud of everything you’ve done, but never be ashamed of who you are.

As for internal beauty, she doesn’t need any help from me. She is a warrior princess with enough self-confidence to scare a bear. She knows she is beautiful, and I hope that she can carry that feeling with her forever.

Without a doubt, my daughter’s best guide to a future of self-acceptance and self-confidence is her mother. In her, Tori has a living example of what it means to be active and confident at any size—to be equally at home hiking a mountain, canoeing a river, or biking along a beach-side trail. She is learning that being a bigger woman does not mean being passive or unhealthy. She is learning that what matters in your life is what you do, not how others see you. Of course, I am a realist and I know there will be times of insecurity and self-doubt. Everyone experiences them. But as my dad used to say, “It’s not the cards you’re dealt, it’s how you play them.”

I hope through all of this that Tori will grow to see life in terms of choices rather than limitations, and that neither her gender nor her body size should be a barrier to her desires, whether in personal style, career, recreation, or choice of friends or partners.

Dara Chadwick’s book, “You’d Be So Pretty If…”

This week’s guest post comes from Dara Chadwick, a journalist who writes about health, wellness and psychology. We asked her to write about her journey to self acceptance after landing a sweet gig with a national women’s fitness magazine.

When it comes to family television viewing, there aren’t always a whole lot of great choices, but one show my family’s been enjoying together is ABC’s “The Middle,” a half-hour sitcom that features a “middle-aged, middle-class” mom in middle America. My kids think it’s a riot and I’ve found myself giggling at the over-the-top adventures of the show’s characters — especially the mom, who’s just trying to hold her head above water on most days.

I’ve had lots of days like that. And they really used to bother me. But happiness, I’ve discovered, is in those “middle” places.

See, I’m a former member of the “I have to be perfect” club: brilliant career, model children, blissfully happy marriage and spotless house. Oh, and a fabulous body, too.

Are you done laughing yet?

I can tell you that I have achieved all that “perfection” exactly zero times in my life. But that didn’t stop me from trying — or from beating myself up about it. The focus of most of my efforts was usually my body; after all, eating and exercise were totally under my control, right?

There was a time in my life when my quest to improve myself was serious business. I’d restrict calories, I’d exercise for hours and otherwise find ways to punish myself for not being “perfect.” My body may have been smaller, but I was never quite satisfied with where I was. In my mind, there was always room for improvement.

Secretly, though, I longed for a day when I wouldn’t have to care anymore.

While meeting the demands of two young kids, a husband, a job and a house, that day arrived. I didn’t care anymore. With no time to exercise, no energy to make a healthy meal for myself amid diapers and baby food and bottles, and no shortage of guilt at the idea of putting myself first, I let go of my chase of perfection.

And I do mean I let go. But that didn’t make me happy, either.

It wasn’t the extra flesh I was carrying or the bigger jeans I was wearing. It was knowing that I just wasn’t taking care of myself. Not exercising and not caring at all about what I ate didn’t deliver the freedom I once thought it would.

My life was out of balance. I’d gone from one extreme to the other.

In 2007, I signed on to write the Weight-Loss Diary column for Shape magazine. I worked with a life coach, a trainer and a dietitian to meet my goal of getting myself back to the weight I was on my wedding day. Each month, I was photographed and had to write about my “successes and failures.”

By the end of the year, I made my goal weight. But a funny thing happened along the way.

I’d started out with near obsession: I never, ever thought I wouldn’t be able to lose the weight. But as my kids — who were then 11 and nine — watched me hit the gym for a couple of hours each day, drink protein shakes and carefully monitor every calorie I consumed, I realized that I’d see-sawed back to the other extreme. And that wasn’t good.

That wasn’t the mom I wanted to be.

But here’s what was good: By the project’s end, I’d reconnected with my body. I remembered how good regular exercise made me feel. I realized how much better I felt when I ate healthy foods. I had a great dietitian who taught me all about moderation and helped me learn to bring balance to my food choices — knowledge I still use every day, two years later.

When my year with Shape was over, I made a conscious decision: No more extremes. These days, I eat what I feel like eating, when I feel like eating it. I don’t belong to a gym anymore; instead, I mix up my routine with walking, running, dance classes, yoga, biking — whatever I feel like doing. But I do something. It’s not about getting smaller, or changing a single thing: It’s about me, living my life in the healthiest body I can have — and showing my kids that you don’t have to be “perfect” to be happy.

After all this time, I feel like I’ve finally found my “middle” place — that balance between healthy self-care and accepting the body I have. I’m not striving for elusive perfection, but I’m not neglecting my body’s health either. Landing squarely in the middle, I’ve reached that body image milestone I’ve longed for my whole life: Contentment.

Dara writes about raising body-confident kids and making peace with our own body image demons at You’d Be So Pretty If (one of our “We Read” picks), and you can purchase her book here.

My oldest son and me hiking in the Tetons

“Jason says you’re FAT!” yelled my oldest son as he climbed into our minivan, throwing his backpack on the floor as he began to cry. As I drove away from the school, I gently pointed out that I am overweight and not everyone uses the word ‘fat’ to be mean.

“He says you’re so fat, you wear your socks on your toes!” he cried.

“Okay, maybe he was trying to be mean,” I said dryly. “Or he was trying to be funny and doesn’t understand that jokes like that are inappropriate and hurtful.”

I wasn’t hurt so much as surprised: not only did I not realize that my weight merited pint-sized commentary, but I wasn’t prepared for my son’s reaction. He hadn’t grown up with a mom who talked about her weight in either positive or negative terms, bounced from diet to diet, or continually put herself down like so many women I know had. I was just . . . Mom. And to him, I was just right. I’d prepared myself to steel my kids against bullies and meanies, but I hadn’t anticipated having to talk to them about how some people might feel about my size.

So what to do if this comes up? I know that every fat girl’s attitude about her body will vary as much as her parenting style. But here are some ideas for helping your kids (and you) deal with negative remarks about your size.

Listen. Before reacting (or over-reacting), let your child share what happened and how it made him or her feel. The first time my son shared a remark a classmate made about my weight (an observation that I was fat with no joke or apparent malice attached), he didn’t seem at all bothered, so I let it go. But when he became upset, I sat him down for a heart to heart talk, listened to what he was trying to tell me, and carefully asked questions as we talked. Knowing your child helps a lot here – some will share every detail of every moment, while others will only open up while walking or working with their hands. Also, keep in mind that stories that come home from school reflect your child’s perception of events and not necessarily objective reality. If you suspect any form of bullying, call your child’s teacher and/or school administrators to discuss the situation.

Don’t play the blame-yourself game. You may have noticed that our philosophy here at FGG is different from many weight-related sites out there. We know that you know you’re fat, and it’s likely the rest of the world does, too. While it may be upsetting to be a potential source of either embarrassment or pain for your child, taking it out on yourself – either by apologizing to your kids or berating yourself out loud or in your head – solves nothing. It doesn’t model self care to our kids, who take careful note of how we behave and despite their protests to the contrary, want to see us as heroes. And for those of us striving to make peace with our bodies as they are and even to lose weight, blaming and shaming is the surest path away from healthier states of body and mind. In other words, it won’t help and it might actually hurt on several levels, so don’t go there.

Talk to the other child’s parents. Don’t you do it! I can feel you rolling your eyes at this one. I’m sharing this because it worked for me, but I realize that every situation will vary and I know a mom or two for whom this would never work. I’m friendly with the mom of the boy who made the wisecrack about me and I know her parenting style, so I felt okay (though admittedly nervous) approaching her and sharing what her son said. She was mortified and promised she’d talk to him, assuring me that jokes about people’s weight are not acceptable in her home. I felt better saying something, in part because it felt good to know I could come to my friend with this issue, but also because perhaps now one more family has a broader tolerance of people’s differences.

Don’t play the stay-at-home game, either. I remember interviewing a woman for an article who confided that she knew people who couldn’t stand to be in the same room with a fat person. That was eye opening for me, but I ultimately came around to think, “So what? That’s their problem, not mine.” Easy to say, I know, but I spent a lot of years feeling ashamed of my looks,  even when I was a perfectly normal weight. If I let every negative comment deter me from enjoying my life or sharing in the lives of my kids, I’d never leave the house. So I hold my head high and act as if I’m the most beautiful mom in the classroom, because to one child there, I am. And that’s the opinion that matters most to both of us.

So, fat moms: have you encountered this issue in your family? How did you handle it? I’m especially curious to hear from moms of teens who have hit that phase where they don’t want to be seen with us, regardless of our size. Share your stories and advice in the comments.