jpeg from: http://thesheaf.com/2014/01/31/you-count-more-than-calories-eating-disorders-illuminated/
I’m an 8+ hours of sleep type of
person. When I wake up in the morning, I have a tendency to be irritable,
confused, or just generally disoriented. Back home for the holidays, my mom
will tentatively ask me every morning if I’m “the beauty or the beast.” Usually
it’s the beast: I stumble around, make copious amounts of coffee, and sit
cross-legged in front of a mirror on the floor foggily forgetting that I’ve
only applied mascara to one eyelash.
I
do one other thing in my morning routine: I talk to myself. I tell myself I am
beautiful even though I might have eaten too much pizza the night before. I
tell myself that I have value even though I ate 3 donuts that someone brought
to work. I tell myself that I am not fat even though, some days, I struggle to
believe it. Sometimes I forget that talking to yourself isn’t necessarily the
norm. But for me, my emotional and physical wellbeing rely on these personal
accolades. I stay healthy and grounded this way; I love and appreciate myself
this way; I model these behaviors to teach little girls how to love themselves
this way.
This
election shook me for too many reasons to be thoroughly and accurately described
in this blog post. Of the many, the most personal relates to my eating
disordered past. All that self-talk I do in the mornings is simply my response
the parts of me that, at one point, unquestioningly believed that societal
standards of beauty were my standards
of beauty. In my adolescence, these standards dominated my view-of-self, which
eventually resulted in the development of an eating disorder. My rural
upbringing in Alaska didn’t protect me from absorbing media and/or social portrayals
of “femininity” and “beauty.” Now then, what do we do to protect children
growing up in the mainstream United States with a president who endorses the
(untrue) societal, gendered standards that espouse oppressive views directed
towards women and girls? How do we help them understand that what their
president thinks about their bodies is not indicative of their actual value?
The
morning after the election, I felt as though the world was ending. I woke up a
mere 4 hours after I fell asleep (not necessarily the best thing to happen to
an 8+ hours-of-sleep woman), scrolled through the News application on my phone,
and then tried to cry myself back to sleep. It didn’t work. Reluctantly, I went
through my groggy, stumbling-for-coffee morning routine, but couldn’t seem to
shake the fact that this election’s results meant more to me than I expected. I
thought he had no chance, so I never questioned what it would mean if my
President told me, albeit implicitly through his words to other women, that I’m
“Miss Piggy,” “fat,” “ugly,” or that I need to “suck [my] gut in.”[1]
Turns out, it meant quite a bit. As I tried to process what had happened, I
couldn’t seem to stop thinking that the election results meant that my country
had told me that I’m nothing if I’m not thin, perfect, and beautiful. I cried
for myself that morning. But mostly I cried for all the little girls (and boys)
who will grow up with a president who—whether he meant it or not—told them that
they aren’t good enough simply the way they are.
Grasping
for hope in the throes of my mid-election blues, I decided to re-read The Feminine Mystique. In the
introduction to my edition, Freidan cites a quote she wrote in her first
autographed copy of the seminal piece, which stated, “Courage to us all on the
new road.”[2]
While the quote was not initially directed at the new president-elect’s term,
it still appeared to give me the courage I needed to hope and advocate for
something different. It seems so easy (and much less tiring) to give up, but we
are on a new road and in dire need of courage. Even though I’m not quite sure
how yet, it now seems more important that I advocate for the children who may
internalize their future president’s words. My hope (among many other hopes) is
that we teach children from both red and blue families that their worth isn’t
connected to their appearance or weight, even if that might be a tiring
endeavor. And, since our president may hesitate to remind children of that, the
responsibility now falls on us—on me—to not
complacently follow my tiredness, irritation or frustration. Rather, now it’s
my time to fight: not only for myself, but also for everyone else out there experiencing
similar emotions or sentiments.
Written by: Jen
Trimpey, M.S.
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