I was getting ready to work out the other day and though I was only headed to my basement, I had to stop and look in the mirror. (I should probably have fewer mirrors around the house.) Immediately upon seeing myself, I started 
the internal insults and thought of all the snarky, funny comments I could put as my Facebook status.
“Got dressed to work out. Looked in the mirror and all was well. Until I opened my eyes, LOL.” Or maybe a more direct approach like, “I think jamming myself into these running pants has violated some law of physics.” Wait, wait, how about a “your momma so fat…” joke?
Then I stopped. For just a minute, I stopped looking for every single, little flaw and wondered how I would feel if I saw my daughter looking in the mirror and saying the same things. My baby girl. My perfect, brilliant, strong, caring and compassionate little girl, tearing herself apart, bit by bit, one nasty word or disapproving glance at a time. Or maybe my son, staring at his image, or his sister’s, or mine, and having laser-like focus on any part that doesn’t clearly resemble perfection, feeling anger or shame at what he sees.
This has been a lifelong issue for me. I can actually remember my pre-school days when having me stand in front of a mirror (see? that freaking mirror again) and declare, “I fat!” was a neat party trick that my older sisters enjoyed sharing with their friends.
Before you start to think my sisters were some kind of cruel overlords that forced terrible things upon an innocent child, I can tell you that they were babies, too. And they were just repeating the female body-shaming vitriol that oozed through every television show, every magazine cover and every movie that saturated our childhoods.
But it’s surely not a surprise that I struggle(d) with weight since that point. From the bullying that I received, and then dished out, in my elementary school days, to the high school years plagued with eating disorders and depression, how much I weighed, what size I was wearing and what looked back at me from the mirror have been constant, debilitating companions.
So it’s been very interesting for me to watch the very slight, very noticeable shift in the public attitude towards woman’s bodies. Some companies are actually starting to embrace diversity, admitting that beauty comes in all forms. I get excited when I see ad campaigns that show women of differing sizes and shapes, all of them empowered and strong.
And then I read the comments.
I have become physically ill, sick to my stomach, while reading the cruel, vicious, uncalled for and absurdly intimate venom that people spew at these women. For the love of God, she’s just a person, living her life, feeling proud of her accomplishments, which may or may not have anything to do with what she looks like. Where does anyone get off saying these things? And then I realize that they’re pretty similar to the things I say to myself.
Then, I look at my kids. I smile thinking about how much I freaking love them. They are sweet and considerate. They are bright and witty. They make me laugh all the time. If anyone ever spoke to them like that, used those words of hatred, judgement and ignorance, I would lose my ever-loving mind.
So at what point does the disconnect happen? When do I go from the woman who rarely mentions physical beauty in front of her children, the woman who has taught them to view the world’s opinions with a critical eye, the woman who has never once made a negative comment about her body, or another woman’s body, (out loud) in front of her kids, to the woman that thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to make fat jokes at herself in the mirror? The woman who apologizes to her husband (who couldn’t care any less) when she gains five pounds? The woman who works out in her basement so she doesn’t have to let other people see her in running pants?
Well let me tell you something, I hate that woman. I’ve dealt with her negativity and misery for just about forever and I’m all done. All done.
The next time I look in the mirror, I’m going to look at my body and know that it grew two babies and then fed them, too. This body rocked and carried and soothed those babies, picked them up when they fell down, wiped away tears, washed off the dirt and hugged them tight each night. This body is strong enough to scoop up a 10-year-old when she gets the wind knocked out of her for the first time, and agile enough to play solid defense on a 13-year-old when he drives to the basket.
This body has been broken and battered, but healed and moved on, stronger and wiser. This body has been smaller and bigger, softer and harder. But it’s mine. It’s the only one I get. And I think that I’m done treating it like a pariah, instead of like the best friend that’s been waiting all these years for me to notice her loyalty.
Bring on the freaking mirror. I got this.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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