sugar and spice and yadda yadda

It’s been quite a fucking year.

Between the pandemic and the election and the riots…. I would have thought that maybe we’d have been transformed.

But as I sit here, snorting up the last bits of my homemade ravioli (meat filled and in chicken broth, in case you’re wondering), I’m almost positive that most people are confused as to what transformation really even is- because they have no idea what they are made of to begin with…

I made the sad mistake of scrolling through Instagram before I ate. And what I often find frightens me. There was a celebrity posting about her boob lift on Christmas Eve and poking fun at the Kardashians at the same time.

And the comments underneath were even more disturbing:

“Way to be real and tell us honestly about your enhancements”.

“Thanks for being transparent about your choices”

Real? Wha?

When we’re younger, we are told that baby girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. When did that become a lie?

When did you start believing that you weren’t enough?

What standard do you aspire to?

Listen. I’m not talking to people who are faced with augmentation after cancer or injuries or traumas.

I’m talking about women who are raising girls who are teaching them -directly or indirectly- that they are not enough as is.

Are we enabling a generation of “no consequence” kids?

If we are uncomfortable, can we pay for the quick fix? the surgical enhancement? the miracle diet? the party and subsequent post that makes it appear that all is well and perfect.

Sure we can.

But what do we lose?

A few years back, my daughter did something that was really offensive while wearing her cheerleading uniform. She convinced the team to make an offensive gesture to girls who didn’t show up to the competition that day. And then, as if that wasn’t enough, she posted it right to social media.

The school’s position was to suspend her and kick her off of the team. I was all for her being punished, but what was “getting out of school” and “getting out of cheerleading practices” going to do to my daughter? Teach her a lesson? Maybe.

But it had to go deeper for me. I wanted her to have that feeling of butterflies in your stomach like olden days- when you had to call someone’s house and wonder if their dad or mom would pick up. I wanted her to be in pain for that split second.

Am I a horrific mom? Maybe.

But pain, my friends, is where the true transformation happens.

My daughter stood on stage and delivered a speech to an auditorium full of peers, explaining what she had done and why it was wrong- at my suggestion. The amazing part was that a few friends chose to stand up with her and admit their part as well.

We may believe these days that life isn’t supposed to be painful, blemished, imperfect. But we know in our heart of hearts that it is. Yet we are lured into these perfect lives on reality TV and social media. We donate thousands upon thousands of dollars to Go Fund Mes because we don’t want anyone to be in the pain of losing someone or losing their house, their livelihood.

We distract ourselves in the pain or perfection of others.

And we lose ourselves.

We strive to be what we see day in and day out and rarely take a step back to be grateful for all that it is we have.

Is our value in the number on a scale? The size of our boobs? The exact symmetry of our facial features?

The fitness industry, beauty industry and diet industry will be breathing down your back in 2021 to remind you -again- that you are not enough.

Isn’t it time for you to show them what you are made of?

xx

Photo by Artem Beliaikin on Pexels.com

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