The other day, I swung through the office at school with a friend of mine. Someone offered us cupcakes; I can't remember why. Probably they were leftover from something. I hesitated, because I'd just wolfed down a Twix bar and wasn't particularly hungry -- but even so, I almost never turn down cupcakes. Plus, these were red velvet cupcakes, and even though I KNOW there is nothing actually special about red velvet, I still find it hard to resist their gimmicky goodness. But before I could actually say anything, another woman said, "I wouldn't think you would want a cupcake."
And I was like, wait, what? Because anyone who knows me at all knows that I have this serious thing for cupcakes. Why do you think anyone who visits from out of town always asks me to take them to my favorite cupcake place? (Which, by the way, I have not visited in eons; I hope they've been able to stay open without my business. And I hope they don't think I'm cheating on them with another cupcake place. It's just that I've been rather lacking in extra time and money lately.) I furrowed my brow, indicating that I didn't know what in the flipping hee-haw she was talking about.
"Well, it's just that you've gotten all skinny," she continued. "You probably shouldn't be eating stuff like that."
I don't even remember how I responded, but I can tell you exactly how I felt: angry.
Why do women do this? Why do women scrutinize each other this way? Why are we so critical, so cattily observant, of every pound someone else gains or loses? Why do we feel it's our place to judge, or to snark? I shouldn't have a cupcake, because I've worked hard to achieve this healthy body? So, if I weighed thirty pounds more, no one would mind? Or if I weighed thirty pounds more, would they secretly judge me for eating one because I should want to weigh less? And would they feel smug about that?
Perhaps I'm overthinking this, but the fact is that I listen to comments like this from women I work with (or, to be fair, probably women in general) all the time. So-and-so has gained weight. So-and-so has lost weight. More often than not, the comments are directed towards people whose changes in weight -- in either direction -- would probably have gone unnoticed by me. Why does one actually bother to point out that someone has gained five or ten pounds? Just to be superior, bitchy, smug?
On the other hand, I don't want to give the impression that I don't like hearing compliments when I have worked hard to get in shape. I'm pretty sure most women, especially after having a second child, would appreciate that kind of notice. And I do! It's certainly not that I've turned into some supermodel, for heaven's sake -- I mean, would anyone like to talk about stretch marks (among other unavoidable effects of bearing children)? And also, I will probably never think of myself as "skinny." But I am healthier and in better shape than I have been in years, definitely since I got pregnant with Suzannah -- although not because I deny myself the things that I love (hello cupcakes, gin, chocolate, buttered popcorn -- the things that make Friday nights and weekends so glorious). It's because I discovered that I'm breastfeeding not a baby but this TOTALLY INSATIABLE KOMODO DRAGON who demands a great deal of nourishment so he has enough energy to destroy my house every single day. This burns a lot of calories, people.
But also this:
We almost never eat out. This is partly because it makes much more financial sense to cook at home, but it's also much healthier because I control what goes into our food. I certainly don't cook "diet" food, but almost anything we have here is going to be healthier (and cheaper) than what we would order in a restaurant. When I look for new recipes to try, I make a conscious effort to choose healthy (yet satisfying and delicious) ones. And we eat a lot of vegetables.
I also run at least a few miles a couple of times a week. I've written about this before; it's something I realize I actually enjoy, and it's one of the most effective ways of clearing my head.
That's pretty much it. Those are my secrets. I don't do trendy diets, and none of this happened overnight or in the kind of time frame promised by infomercials.
I most assuredly do not deny myself cupcakes. And while cooking healthy foods at home means I have more of a taste for them when we do go out, you know what? Once in awhile, I don't want hummus or grilled vegetables, I want a hamburger. With fries. Dipped in ranch dressing. Sometimes, I want Pizza Hut, with an order of cheesy breadsticks on the side (and obviously, the ranch dressing is pretty crucial there). And I don't want to have to rationalize it. Or, worse, apologize for it.
But I'm tempted to do that all too often. In fact, I'm pretty sure I annoy my husband to death when I do order that hamburger. I tell him I'm getting a burger, dammit, with fries, because I went for a run that morning! Also, I'm breastfeeding! Also, we ate roasted veggies and quinoa last night! Matt's usual response is to cut me off and say, "Baby? It's fine. Have a hamburger." And sometimes he asks me, "Is this really what you want our daughter to hear?"
That one hits home. Because while of course we want to instill healthy eating and exercise habits in our children, while we want to model those things, I also don't want my daughter to grow up thinking she is somehow more virtuous, or more ladylike, if she suppresses her appetites. Certainly, she won't be happier. In Appetites: Why Women Want, Caroline Knapp writes:
A mother who is tormented by diet and weight, who appears preoccupied with her appearance and disgusted by her own body, cannot easily teach her daughter to take delight in food, to feel carefree about weight or joyful about the female form. A mother who finds her own sexuality frightening or dangerous or dirty can't easily revel in her daughter's. And a mother whose experience of desire is based on taboo and self-denial, on feeding others and concealing her own pangs of unsatisfied hunger, can't easily steer her daughter towards a wider landsape.I wrote this awhile back, after listening to a couple of co-workers snark another woman we worked with because she had apparently gained weight before her wedding: I want my daughter to be confident, but I also want her to be kind. Above all, I want her to be kind. She will learn this from me, as well. I am not going to be that person, the one who takes a certain amount of satisfaction from dumb things like the pretty girl gaining a few pounds. I'm not going to be the snotty girl who feels powerful when someone else is under a microscope. I don't want to be the person who makes anyone else feel small. I have been that person before, I'm afraid, and I've also been the girl who feels insecure and inadequate. Quite frankly, neither position feels all that great.
I don't want to downplay the health problems and obesity we face in this country -- that's real. Yes, Matt and I care about eating healthy foods. Yes, we care about exercising. But let's not pretend that women who say things like, "I wouldn't think you would want to eat that!" are speaking out of concern for each other's health. Or that making a point to comment on someone's five or ten-pound weight gain is anything but bitchy.
Why do women feel so virtuous when they are hungry? Why do our appetites make us feel so guilty? Why would we rather fill ourselves with self-loathing instead?
I wish I could say that, at thirty-one, I've learned to rise above that. But perhaps the very fact that a relatively innocuous comment bothered me so much, and that I'm still thinking about it several days later, proves that I'm just as sensitive to the scrutiny of other women as I was ten or fifteen years ago. I'd like to think I'm fairly comfortable in my own skin these days, though, and I suppose that's the best protection I can give my daughter -- and hope to heaven it counts for something.
