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Abstract

pack my lunch for the day.</p><p id="c171"><b><i>The almonds.</i></b></p><p id="69b1"><b><i>The small pieces of perfectly wrapped cheese — paraffin wax and plastic — hugging the food supportively.</i></b></p><p id="50bc"><b><i>The orange.</i></b></p><p id="0ffa">Thoughtfully curated snacks for a middle-aged woman hoping to retain some semblance of her younger, trimmer body.</p><p id="ddca">I turned slowly, facing my daughter, my beautiful child who once played with toys, and ran around the house naked. My maturing child who now spends hours a day scrolling through carefully filtered photos of unblemished faces and body parts trimmed for the sake of a thigh gap.</p><p id="8262" type="7">“I think it’s a little bit of both,” I replied as I gave the roll under my belt a squeeze.</p><p id="c91f" type="7">She chuckled. “Yeah. You look good today.”</p><p id="4327">Did her comments hurt my feelings? Sure. Is she the meanest? No. She is being raised in a culture where women are taught to size themselves up clogged pore by clogged pore. They use cutting one another down as a protective mechanism for their own low self esteem — self esteem created by our patriarchal society and reinforced by the media, our family systems, and ultimately, by each of us.</p><h2 id="6d8f">The rituals of expectation setting and self-loathing begin early, often much younger than twelve.</h2><p id="33f3">Long into adulthood women work to undo what has been ingrained in us decade after decade.</p>

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<p id="a998">Sadly, my daughter didn’t say what I hadn’t already thought in my head countless of times.</p><p id="06e7"><b>12-year old girls aren’t the meanest. We are. I am. I am my biggest critic.</b></p><p id="3810">I still have work to do to support the body positivity movement and learn to love, not loathe my body. I have work to do as a parent as well. <i>My children are watching me and they are watching TV, and TikTok, and Instagram, and countless other forms of societal-norm reinforcers.</i></p><p id="5a18">I felt good that entire day and didn’t think negatively once about my fat hip/butt. Like the jeans, my confidence fit me like a supportive glove.</p><p id="bd27">Copyright <a href="undefined">Melissa Marietta</a></p><p id="5465">Check out this article:</p><div id="9305" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/i-hopped-on-the-bandwagon-and-created-a-homeschool-schedule-during-the-pandemic-2f7408dffc57"> <div> <div> <h2>I Hopped on the Bandwagon and Created a Homeschool Schedule During the Pandemic</h2> <div><h3>I found it to be incredibly successful if I don’t say so myself</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*1-ZfGFWJc4nnjPTZ)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div></article></body>

12-Year Old Girls are the Meanest of Them All

It reminds me of the body-positive work I have to do as a parent.

The jeans fit like a glove.

Not tight, like when I grab my kids’ gloves from the bin by accident when running out of the house in the morning.

They hugged my curves supportively.

They fell in the perfect spot, showing off my ankle boots — so On Trend.

I added a belt, drawing the eye to my waist, my body transformed into an hour-glass.

The look made me stand with my shoulders back.

I resisted the urge to place one hand on my hip.

In the kitchen, I packed an orange, a handful of almonds, a few Babybel cheese into a container.

My 12-year old, clad in a hoodie and Justice leggings gave me a head-to-toe.

“Do I look good?” I asked.

“Sure, she replied. “But is that fat from the back of your hips or is it your butt?”

I ignored the question, continuing to pack my lunch for the day.

The almonds.

The small pieces of perfectly wrapped cheese — paraffin wax and plastic — hugging the food supportively.

The orange.

Thoughtfully curated snacks for a middle-aged woman hoping to retain some semblance of her younger, trimmer body.

I turned slowly, facing my daughter, my beautiful child who once played with toys, and ran around the house naked. My maturing child who now spends hours a day scrolling through carefully filtered photos of unblemished faces and body parts trimmed for the sake of a thigh gap.

“I think it’s a little bit of both,” I replied as I gave the roll under my belt a squeeze.

She chuckled. “Yeah. You look good today.”

Did her comments hurt my feelings? Sure. Is she the meanest? No. She is being raised in a culture where women are taught to size themselves up clogged pore by clogged pore. They use cutting one another down as a protective mechanism for their own low self esteem — self esteem created by our patriarchal society and reinforced by the media, our family systems, and ultimately, by each of us.

The rituals of expectation setting and self-loathing begin early, often much younger than twelve.

Long into adulthood women work to undo what has been ingrained in us decade after decade.

Sadly, my daughter didn’t say what I hadn’t already thought in my head countless of times.

12-year old girls aren’t the meanest. We are. I am. I am my biggest critic.

I still have work to do to support the body positivity movement and learn to love, not loathe my body. I have work to do as a parent as well. My children are watching me and they are watching TV, and TikTok, and Instagram, and countless other forms of societal-norm reinforcers.

I felt good that entire day and didn’t think negatively once about my fat hip/butt. Like the jeans, my confidence fit me like a supportive glove.

Check out this article:

I Hopped on the Bandwagon and Created a Homeschool Schedule During the Pandemic

I found it to be incredibly successful if I don’t say so myself

medium.com