I consider myself a zealously involved parent.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my children. I love them more than anything in God’s universe.
And loving them obsessively includes being 100% honest about their life choices and how they will fundamentally impact their existence in the now, in the future and beyond.
Mothers are notorious for gauging their daughters’ weight to such a degree that it can be measured down to an exact science.
My mother did it with me and every pound I gained or lost was up for the harshest judgement and scrutiny.
I am far less preoccupied with my childrens’ weight and don’t pay too much attention to an extra 10 pounds.
I start to get concerned however when slight weight gain begins evolving past 20 pounds on a tiny, petite kid who should only weigh 100.
And I’ll be 6 feet under before I’ll ever stand by and watch 50, 60 and 100 pounds disfigure and maim my beautiful, precious, young daughter.
Creeping pounds are sign of neglect.
They are a sign of boredom and idleness.
They are sign that a person is not being mindful and his conscious decision making is deeply flawed.
I’m of the opinion that letting your children become is obese is child abuse.
Despite the “fat acceptance” movement and obesity being widespread and extremely common today in Western society, it doesn’t make it healthy or acceptable for parents to allow their kids to become fat.
Being overweight is especially hard on girls and young women.
We are judged very candidly on our weight by everyone. Especially men. And even more especially, our peers.
We all notice when one girl in our clique starts to get fat.
And depending on how true blue a friend is, they will either cheer you on and encourage the expansion of your waistline or they will tell you to cut it out fast before you become too ugly to be seen with.
As mothers we feel our daughters’ weight is extremely personal to us, because we know intimately how it feels to be a woman who is insecure in her appearance and her own weight.
And we learn early on and very quickly how important it is to right the ship before the damage is done.
Our daughter’s weight is a direct and highly personal reflection on our parenting skills and nurturing abilities.
And despite what PC society is attempting to drill into our heads, mothers will never accept their daughters becoming fat.
I’m a Gen-X parent. Gen-Z children are typically our generational offspring.
Many people today believe that Gen-Z are more conservative and are immune to societal programming. So much so that advertisers are having to upend their strategies on how to market advertising to Gen-Z because they are immune and invulnerable to clickbait.
Gen-Z on average are less politically correct, less inclined to partake in outrage mob bandwagoneering, and are less apt to apologize for merely existing and having a differing point of view.
The outrage culture prevalent among millennials is impervious to Gen-Z. They are desensitized to overly emotional displays of social manipulation rampant on social media because from the cradle, their culture has been throughly saturated by it.
I see all these traits in my now 20-year old daughter. They are prevalent in her, in part, because I raised her to engage in critical thinking and not blindly accepting the status quo.
She thinks for herself and she has no qualms about hearing the truth.
I noticed my 13-year old daughter coming home from school in the afternoon with a backpack full of junk food that I don’t even keep in my house.
I saw that she was eating pastries by the handful in those heavy, bulky plastic bins you get from the grocery store.
She sat at the kitchen table after school eating instead of hanging out with her friends as usual playing at the basketball court.
After about a month of this, I noticed she began wearing sweats and looser-fitting clothes that she “borrowed from friends” because the beautiful, petite, fashionable clothes I bought for her no longer fit.
Still, it wasn’t until I noticed her legs and thighs becoming alarmingly larger and fatter that she soon developed a severe rash from chafing.
I became no less than fuming angry, blindsided and devastated at what was happening to her.
That evening, being incredulous and antagonistic in panic mode, I began making off-color, cutting remarks about how big she was getting.
Immediately my boomer sister-in-law chimed in and mewed, “Don’t talk to her like that. You’re going to give her a complex. She’s going to develop an eating disorder. She’s going to start starving herself.”
Blah blah blah.
Helicopter parenting was never a tradition in my household. Never would be and certainly wasn’t going to start now.
I whisked my daughter by the arm into her bedroom. I turned on the radio to muffle our conversation from prying ears.
We lay on her bed together wrapped around each other, our feet and socks indiscernibly tangled together with her head snug into her usual nook on my chest.
Her hair smelled of lavender and the school playground–the distinct scent of the cafeteria and a mix of sandy wind and brush that kids smell like when they spend the day getting dirty at school.
She was already crying.
I was already making progress.
I cut to the chase.
I asked her, “What’s the matter? Why are you eating so much lately?”
“I don’t know, Mom. Just bored I guess.” she confessed.
“Where are you getting the pastries you’ve been bringing home?”
“I don’t know. My friends give them to me.” she shrugged.
“You’re not eating those anymore. And I’m going to tell you why. And you need to listen real close.”
Making My Daughter Understand That Her Weight is Very Important to Her Appearance, Her Self-Image and Her Future Prospects as a Woman
Many people would never agree with my parenting style and my approach in “bullying” my daughter into not becoming fat.
But I singlehandedly stopped her from ever gaining a single pound from that moment on. She maintains a healthy weight to this day as a young 20-something woman.
“Honey, the people around you are lying to you about being fat. They are lying about how people ‘don’t care about weight’ and how ‘people should love you for what’s on the inside.’ They are lying to you about how people shouldn’t care what you look like.” I said.
“Yes Mom, they tell us that all the time. My teachers tell us this kind of stuff.”
“I’m going to be completely honest and tell you that your weight and appearance matters more than virtually anything in your life as a young woman.”
“You have to make a conscious decision right now to stop eating so much and lose this extra weight before it gets so bad you’ll wind up hating yourself.”
I went on for two hours telling her in grueling, unflinching detail that people are going judge her first and foremost by her weight and appearance.
I told her that society is very cruel to fat people and they are constantly judged as ugly, lazy, reckless, irresponsible and slovenly.
I told her that if she didn’t look after her weight, she would suffer numerous problems, from lost career opportunities, to loss of potential quality mates and she would suffer diminishing influence among a declining social circle.
Most importantly, I told her that taking care of her appearance as a young woman is non-negotiable.
A young woman’s appearance is not something she can count on forever and she needs to nurture it and care for it like it’s the only thing in her life that matters.
Because it is. At least for as long as she can use it to position herself for success and shape the foundation of the rest of her life.
I didn’t tell her to go on a diet. I didn’t tell her to try Atkins, Keto or starve herself.
I told her to have whatever she wants but she can only have a little bit at a time, some of the time, and never all the time.
I told her to start playing with her friends at the basketball court after school and I would take her clothes shopping in few weeks and get her all the new and pretty stuff she loves to wear.
She went back to her old habits of playing outside, eating a little here and there when she was hungry and stopped treating food like a mindless indulgence.
She was back in shape by summer that year and wore a bikini to the lake with her friends. She was happy again and I saw my little pumpkin shine brighter than she’d ever shone before.
That made all the “bullying” in the world worthwhile. It made my purpose as a parent a noble one.
No matter what society, PC charlatans and know-it-alls will tell you, being fat is pretty much a death sentence, physically, socially, mentally and emotionally.
I “bullied” my child into not becoming fat because I love her more than she could ever understand or imagine.
I “bullied” her because I want her to succeed beyond her wildest dreams.
I “bullied” her because I want her to have a life worth living–one that she can look in the mirror at her reflection every morning with a clear conscience and say to herself, “I’m happy with what I see and I feel confident in how I treat myself and my body.”
I saved my daughter from becoming what no person, sane or otherwise, would ever become by choice or fate.
I helped her change her life to start planning for the one she hadn’t started living yet.
Any parent, teacher, or guardian who refuses to allow the children in their comfort and care to become obese shouldn’t be allowed near any children. Including their own.
My daughter is a happy, successful young woman. A young woman who will never have to spend her life being fat and uncomfortable because society thinks it’s “acceptable.”
Being fat was unacceptable me. And it was unacceptable to my daughter. And being fat shouldn’t be acceptable to anyone.