From the Mouths of Babes, Through the Eyes of Body Shame

     I've been spending a fair amount of time at a preschool for work. It's been mostly great and has certainly been helping my recently overactive biological clock (that's a different blog post altogether). Today, though, something happened. On the playground, lining up to go inside, a little girl, not in the class I'm usually with, started talking to me:

          Little Girl: "I like your tattoo on your foot."
          Me: "Thank you! I like your glasses."
          Girl: "Thank you... why is your tummy so big?"

     I sat there for a second, feeling like the wind had been kicked out of me by this tiny creature who surely meant no harm. My mind raced. I couldn't let her see that I was upset, I couldn't give her any of my standard lines for adults who make inappropriate comments about my body, and it wasn't the right time to turn it into a teachable moment. Finally I said something along the lines of, "That's just how my body is." I felt good about my answer, but still really shitty about the question, and by extension really shitty that I'd let the innocent comment of a three year old ruin my day and self-confidence. I certainly wasn't winning any body-positive feminist awards.

     So there it is, another great example of how my theoretical living and actual reality don't always mesh. If you ask me, I'll tell you that everyone should feel good about themselves and there's nothing inherently better about one body over another. And I really believe that! But when I turn that in on myself, it's suddenly a whole hell of a lot more difficult to feel good. What's strange is I almost never feel negatively about other people's bodies. I can absolutely live my feminist truth when it comes to other people. Which may be why having a kid point out my faults hurts so badly. I like to pretend that other people don't see the same terrible things I see about myself. I don't like to be faced with the fact that my body is visible to the world, and the world has opinions about it.

     I used to be better at letting it roll off my shoulders. I didn't bat an eye the time a man oinked at me as I was leaving a gas station. In college, I took a concrete, positive stance when confronted with the fact someone had referred to me, at a party, in public, as a "fat girl." They were being intentionally mean, and I can move on from that. I was able to let it go because I knew they were trying to break me down and that assholes like that deserve exactly none of my time.

     Today was different. That little girl simply hasn't learned about tact and what kinds of things aren't nice to say to people. She had no agenda. She simply had a question. A small, innocent question that sent me into a spiral of body shame.