Originally appeared on Mamamia. Republished here with permission.
My timing could be better.
We’re just over a week away from Mother’s Day and here I am writing a post that essentially criticizes my mom. Let me tell you, it makes for uncomfortable writing. And it’s entirely Kate Winslet’s fault. More on that in a moment.
You see, I have always seen my mom as amazing. I have looked to her as the benchmark of how to be a mother who is loving but not cloying, who nurtures but doesn’t stifle. She raised me to be strong and independent, to laugh often, to work hard but to keep things in perspective. Mom encouraged me to cherish my girlfriends, to show compassion, to earn my own money, to always find time—regardless of kids or work—to do something that is my own.
So let’s just make it clear that my mom would beat Carol Brady, Mrs. Partridge, and Clair Huxtable if there was ever some boxing match involving my mom and, you know, fictional moms from TV. Which there’s not. Obviously. Anyhoo …
Soooooo writing this post is a just a leetle difficult.
Because last week I had a lightbulb moment thanks to, well, actress Kate Winslet. Yes, Kate “I’m-flying-look-at-me-look-at-me-there’s-only-room-on-this-plank-in-the-sea-for-one-of-us-Jack” Winslet, and I’ve realized that while I want to (and should) hope to emulate much of my mother’s parenting habits, there’s one thing I must do differently. And it’s the way I speak about my appearance. My body.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I grew up in a household where my mom routinely sledged her appearance in the mirror. But I didn’t. I can—hand on heart—tell you that I never once heard my mother complain about her figure. Never heard her bemoan her thighs or her arms, the size of her boobs or the shape of her hips. She may have thought it in her head—I’m sure she did—but she just never verbalized it. Certainly never in front of me. Consequently, despite the fact that I am an entirely different size and shape to my mother (I look like I ate my mother, frankly), I rarely utter a negative word about my appearance in front of my children. Do I think it? HELL TO THE YES. It’s like my head features a soundtrack narrated by Anna Wintour. But I don’t say any of it out loud.
And for years I have thought this was enough. More than enough. Just last week I was congratulating myself on my awesome body image parenting while simultaneously stuffing several of my daughter’s Easter eggs into my cake-hole.
But a couple weeks ago, Kate Winslet made me realize it’s not enough.
Last week on Facebook I stumbled upon this quote from the actress about what she says to her 12-year-old daughter Mia:
“As a child, I never heard one woman say to me ‘I love my body.’ Not my mother, my elder sister, my best friend. No one woman has ever said, ‘I am so proud of my body’. So I make sure to say it to Mia because a positive physical outlook has to start at an early age.”
I heard my mother say many things while I was growing up. “Am I the only person here who knows how to unload the dishwasher?” being one of her personal favorites. But I have never ever heard my mother say that she loves her body. Or that she’s proud of it. Or grateful for it. Not once.
And I think that’s a tragedy.
When I mentioned this to one friend she said, “Hello? As if you’re going to say ‘I love my body!’ in conversation with your child.”
She has a point.
And then I thought about it some more and thought, “Hang on, no she doesn’t.”
Why can’t we bring ourselves to say, “I love how strong my legs are,” or “My body is awesome because it grew a baby!” or “How brilliant are our bodies that we can run and skip and jump and climb hills and ride bikes?” (OK, I don’t say that last one because I’m not a member of the Famous Five and I only run if a serial killer is chasing me with a meat cleaver but still …)
Why can we brag—even in a jokey way—about how good we are at other things (“I’m the Queen of Trivial Pursuit,” “I’m an awesome driver,” “I make the world’s best shepherd’s pie,” “Nobody writes a better business plan than me”) but we can’t ever say something positive about our bodies?
Because it feels uncomfortable? Or because so many of us loathe what we see in the mirror?
I don’t know what the answer is. Maybe it’s all of the above. But I do know that I want my daughter to grow up appreciating what her body does for her. That despite the disgracefully neglectful way we often treat our bodies that we should feel gratitude for the fact it keeps going. We should be in awe of what it does for us often under the toughest of circumstances (and, really, despite some of the hideous clothes we made it wear in the ’80s…culottes and shoulder pads, anyone?). I want her to be proud of how she looks. To look at her body with affection rather than disdain.
So Mom, you have been the greatest of mothers to my brother and me. Without question. But when it comes to body image, I’ll be taking a leaf out of Kate Winslet’s book. And I know—because of the woman you are—you’ll be just fine with that.
Rebecca Sparrow is a contributing editor at Mamamia.com.au. She is also the author of four books including The Girl Most Likely (which is in development as a feature film) and Find Your Tribe (and 9 other things I wish I’d known in high school). You can read more about Bec on her website which you can find here, or follow her on twitter here and Facebook here.
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