Fat talk has been a part of my life since before I even got my braces off. I used to think that once I became a mom, I would kick the habit. Yet, years passed, and I found myself standing in front of the mirror saying things like:
- “I feel so huge today.”
- “Does this outfit make me look massive?”
- “I just devoured way too much cake. Ugh, I’m disgusting.”
- “Is my belly sticking out?”
- “I never used to have cellulite. Look at it—LOOK!”
My friends would join in, each trying to outdo the other with tales of their perceived flaws—one even lamented about her knees. Fat talk became our unofficial sport. We had all absorbed the same lessons from the Manual of Womanhood:
- Never simply accept a compliment; instead, downplay it with a self-deprecating remark. (For instance, “Oh, you like my dress? It’s long because it hides my backside.”)
- When a friend bemoans her looks, you must chime in with your own complaints to show solidarity.
My husband could barely handle my endless critiques. Sometimes, he would reassure me that I was beautiful. Other times, he would ignore my complaints entirely. Occasionally, he’d ask, “You’re not planning to talk like that around our child, are you?” Of course, I indignantly replied, “Never!”
Then I had my baby girl, and I quickly learned that quitting fat talk was anything but easy. I wanted her to grow up with a healthy body image, yet I struggled to change my habits. I made excuses:
- “She’s too little to understand.”
- “Even if she does, she can’t speak yet, so I have time.”
- “I’ll quit soon. I always tell her how much I love her cute little body—especially her adorable chubby tummy!”
But deep down, I knew that wasn’t true.
When my daughter was just weeks old, I would lay her on the bathroom floor while I styled my hair and put on my makeup. I’d notice her wide eyes tracking my every move. By eight months, she was imitating me blowing my nose. At twelve months, she would rummage through my purse for lip gloss and “apply” it without a care. By the time she was fifteen months, she grabbed the broom and dustpan, dragging them around the house (though she should’ve focused on the crumbs near her high chair). Now, at eighteen months, she’s trying on my shoes and clothes, wiping the table with her bib, and mimicking my catchphrases like “Okay….”
She’s watching me, and I’m still occasionally making negative remarks about my body—though not as often as before. It would be a lie to say that my body acceptance blossomed with motherhood. If I’m being honest, it’s likely because I weigh less than I ever have as an adult. But that doesn’t stop me from complaining about my post-baby breasts.
I want to embrace the beauty of my body daily—regardless of any bloating, sagging, or crow’s feet. I yearn for my daughter to see that it’s perfectly normal for women to appreciate their beauty. I’m trying to limit my fat talk to moments when she’s not around, but children seem to sense our insecurities. I thought it would be easy to accept my body after having my daughter, but I realize it’s a continuous journey.
Body image remains a challenge for me, and I’ve learned that hiding from it isn’t the solution; I need to confront it. For now, that means avoiding fat talk when she’s nearby, allowing her to explore my belly (minus the poking!), and wearing a bikini at the pool—even if it pushes me outside my comfort zone.
Motherhood has taught me the importance of adapting as I go because nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems.
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In summary, breaking the cycle of fat talk is a challenge many mothers face. By being mindful of our words, we can foster a healthier body image for ourselves and our children.