My Beef With Thinspiration

Originally published at Home Sweet Hjelmstad on June 16th, 2012 

I know you've seen her too.

Slender thighs, a painfully thin midsection, sculpted arms, and a gracefully arching back save for the ribs visibly poking through. The only variations are her face, her name, and possibly the addition of a six or eight pack that barely veils her ribs. But her name matters not, because these days she's simply known as Thinspiration. I, personally, call her a liar.

She taunts women constantly, her form plastered everywhere, convincing them with ease that they can look better, no--they must look better, and that she exists to serve as their motivation.

She is one of the many reasons I have long avoided buying a scale.
So I was appalled when my smiling husband returned from a shopping trip a few weeks ago (yes, he shops...and cooks, and does laundry, and feeds and bathes the children) and pulled out a snazzy-looking little scale from the bag, announcing happily, "look what I got! I thought it'd look nice in our new bathroom!" Imagine his chagrin when I fixed him with a death stare and replied shrilly, "you bought a scale?!" like he'd betrayed our country or something. Apparently I hadn't bothered to clue him in on the long-waged war between myself and the nasty little devices trying to jump into my shopping cart. One even made it to the cashier's hands before I quickly said, "never mind, I don't need that, please don't ring it up!"

Why all the fuss with a little scale and some pictures of seemingly fit women? Well, it's no secret that like most women out there, I constantly over-analyze my faults--or at least what I perceive them to be--and I continually fight against the lie we all seem to believe that weight equals worth. I've battled the lie for long enough, and finally convinced myself that I could, indeed, break the cycle, being happy with how I felt as opposed to a number on the scale. I was content knowing I'd only see my weight twice a year for mandatory Army weigh-ins or not at all as a stay-at-home-mom. I've worked hard to hold on to the truth that healthy and happy trumps petite and "pretty" any day. I don't do diets or count calories, I eat what I want (within reason), I try to exercise fairly often (but in reality haven't gotten into regular schedule as a SAHM); simply put, I try to maintain a healthy and balanced lifestyle so that my body functions the way it should.

And that's where I believe the focus should be for all women: on achieving overall health, period. We're neither wandering souls nor simply flesh and bone. We are both body and soul, and as such we need to care for both equally. Eating good food and staying active should be a means to this end--caring for the body God gave us so that we can effectively do the job He put us on this earth to do. Both ends of the spectrum--disregarding health and overindulging to the point of ruining our bodies or obsessing about ingesting fewer calories lest the low number on the scale jump up half a pound--skews the balance that is vital to the ultimate health of our body and soul. So the goal should be to live a healthy complete lifestyle that reflects an appreciation for the life and talents we've been given.  If the our outer appearance benefits as well, then great. But it should be an added bonus, not the sole motivation.

Unfortunately, we live in a society that disregards the truth and throws a lie in our faces every time we turn around. This girl I see over and over with a different face but the same sort of unnaturally perfect body is either fake, extremely unhealthy, or both. They pundits say we need to build up our self-esteem, embrace our unique selves and gravitate to a more healthy, happy sort of beauty, but then they stick a six foot tall model in front of us or airbrush the heck out of anyone who might not have the same sort of skeleton frame. Actions certainly do speak louder than words, don't they?

So try as I might to stand my ground and concern myself more with inner worth than outer appearance, I'm human. When my senses are continually accosted with the fodder of the "Thinspo" world, it's hard to tune it all out, and I know something as seemingly harmless as a scale might be my downfall. I tried to explain this epic battle to my poor husband as he stood holding the dreaded scale that day; he sort of understood (as well as any guy might), and promised that if I began to appear obsessive about it all he'd hide the scale from me. A few hours later, though, as I tested out the scale for the fifth time in a row and caught myself in the early stages of a self-deprecating tailspin, I knew there had to be a better way.

Turns out there is. It just took my three-year-old daughter to show me.

She quickly discovered the new scale in the bathroom (because you know if you're a parent that privacy is simply a luxury from our distant memories) and immediately, the questions began. Yours truly was put to the task of explaining its purpose, and in the midst of talking to her the light bulb finally went on for me. In the most simplistic terms I could manage, I told her that just like at the doctor's office, this scale measured how much she weighed, and that if she kept eating her muscle food, she would grow and the numbers would go up! But I also explained that it's only a little sign a doctor can use to see whether or not we're healthy, because it depends on lots of other things as well. Because regardless of the food she eats, the numbers on the scale could go up, might go down, or most days would stay the same.

photo credit: © 2010 Mark Hesseltine, Flickr

I was trying with all my might to tell her how special she was, and would be, no matter what the numbers said. But as I grasped for the right words I began to agonize over the fact that despite my explanation, it would ultimately be my example that would help her avoid the trap of the skin-deep image. Yet even as I struggled to convey to her the scale's true insignificance, you know what little nugget of wisdom my little darling dropped on me?

"That's okay, Mommy, because God loves me like I am now and when I grow up and always!" All I could think was, I just got schooled by a three-year-old.

Maybe I'll have to ask my husband to hide the scale eventually. But I don't think so--right now all I have to do is glance away from the world's "Thinspiration" for one second to see the sparkling eyes and beautiful smile of my true inspiration, loaded with all the truth I need--charging me to be the example she needs to maintain that truth.

I will show her what it means to be healthy.
I will show what it means to be happy.
And I will show her that her weight will never equal her worth.