A Note on Radical Perspective on Wellness
Remember, moms, before you had children? When you were young, worried about only yourself (you slept in, went pee in peace, etc.). And as a woman, there were these advertisements everywhere telling you what you should look like. What was beautiful. Bronze sculpted bodies—skinny, but with curves in all (and only) the right places. It was a specific look. Make up, hair. Everything about women seemed to be sexualized. Everything seemed to be about a product to sell. Everything seemed to tell you that you, as you were, wasn’t quite good enough. What you needed, was to be more beautiful and perfect.
You grew up, so to speak, and these advertisements and messages followed you just about everywhere.
Now you’re a mom. And if you’ve had your child biologically, your body has undergone something incredible and traumatic and, lucky you—now not only do you fall under the target category of Woman, but also the target category of Mother.
Cue the advertising agencies, pop culture…what we now have is another point to draw out weakness. An additional category to redefine and find flaws in. And new mothers? At a peak of bodily discomfort, hormones, vulnerability and insecurity? With adverting culture already doing damn well tearing women down, the market possibilities with new mothers has practically written itself.
Two years ago, a funny thing happened.
I was on the road, my 2.5 year old son strapped into his carseat in the back seat, happily kicking his legs and jabbering away. An important toddler conversation about nothing in particular, in great enthusiasm.
We pulled to a stop behind a long lag of cars. “Look mama,” he shouted excitedly, “a bummon”. It was the first time he had stopped his stream of talking to directly address me, highlighting its importance to him. Ahh, the bummon. My son’s word for belly-button. He could say belly button just fine, but to him, it is most definitely supposed to be called a bummon. I looked out my right window at the billboard high above us. There it was, a bummon. A tanned, toned bummon framed by the notable (but not too notable) muscles of a six pack. A girl in a teal bikini. Well, a body. No head, no legs. Definitely a bummon, front and center. “Uh yes…” I replied, as I read the billboard, “That is definitely a bummon”. “Yeah!” he said, satisfied. “Bummon” he said again. I attempted to feign some enthusiasm for my son’s exciting (though hard to miss) find.
Tickle Lipo, it read.
In fact, like most toddlers, the excitement over one’s and everyone else’s’ belly buttons is nothing new. Who knew toddlers had such a deep rooted fascination with the thing? My son asked practically everyone he met to see their belly buttons. At grocery stores and pharmacies, he’d excitedly run his hands along the magazines yelling “bummon, bummon, bummon”—because there is always a guaranteed bummon on the front cover of a magazine.
But driving by the giant billboard advertising liposuction with a woman’s photoshopped fat-sucked navel on it, and hearing my toddler squeal with delight, felt a little bit different.
Before I had a toddler, I didn’t mentally point out every time I saw a partially naked sculpted image of a person out in the world, I guess I was used to it. It’s how women are essentially represented in this country, isn’t it? But now, I had a tiny voice of an alarm bell that squealed with delight and self-satisfaction—and because of that I became very, very aware of the mass of ulterior motive, money-making bummons we encounter on a regular basis.
And then it got worse. These bummons my son was pointing out? There grew a new theme. It’s one he noticed for additional reasons. “A bummon and a BABY!” A woman holding a baby, a woman snuggling with a toddler, a fanatically happy woman with her family. And guess what? She’s not just a woman now. Nope. She’s a mother.
And do you know what this mother, apparently, needs? A mommy make-over.
I see them everywhere now. Hear the phrase as if it’s casual. A slew of ads with these beautiful cookie cutter women with their perfect boobs, their six pack, their styled hair—bouncing a happy, clean and calm baby on their hip. Snuggling a little girl with pigtails while they lounge in their matching bikinis out at the pool.
“Mommy make-over surgery with liposuction and a breast lift”
“While motherhood is good for your soul, it may be hard on your body”
“Re-claim your pre-baby body” and “Swimsuit season is coming, mommy makeover time!”
And my favorite ad yet: “My beautiful mommy! Mighty is the force of motherhood. It transforms all things by its vital heart”.
What is happening?
Advertisers are using the amazing beauty of pregnancy, birth and motherhood to sell their product or service, which so blatantly dedicates itself to false ideals, standards and beliefs about beauty, the body and most of all—women. They are breaking out the fancy quotes about the beauty of motherhood, and sticking a Photoshopped bummon on it.
Now that you’re a mom, and possibly have had a biological child—you should know that, according to the world around you, you are probably not only an insufficient parent—but an insufficient woman. Motherhood has happened—you need fixing. You got this title, and you know what, you need some you time. Clean yourself up. You’re gonna need to get back on all these ‘woman’ requirements stat.
I grapple with disgust and sadness, and hilarity of its ridiculousness—it feels like a parody. It feels like an SNL skit. Are we really making this a thing? People are really pushing this as the new norm? Will people start getting lipo-giftcards at their baby showers? Will there be new mom-body kick-starter go-fund-me’s? Or one of the compulsory questions in the baby aisle of Target? “So, who’s gonna do your new boobs?” “So, are you gonna do the tuck and lift or just the tuck?”
But this is not okay. Advertisers and media have the unique advantage of being able to help push new societal norms. People are starting to think of it as normal. You know, when abused individuals are so trapped in a cycle of abuse that they think it’s normal or no big deal? So they just keep going with it and it continues… and it is their life. That’s us! That is happening to our culture.
I feel as though I am in a dystopian housewives show, looking around at other people and wondering if they are playing along out of fear, or if they really don’t even notice. It is outrageous. Donald Trump outrageous. 1984. Stepford Wives. The Hunger Games. Brave New World.
And look at all these people not freaking out. Not outraged.
As a woman I feel the familiar pangs of all of this often. The frustration. But as a mom—I mean, have people learned nothing? Stop tearing down women, for starters. But MOTHERS? And new mothers, at their most vulnerable?
The tearing down of mothers’ bodies within the relation of them becoming a mother is a new low. That involves our children, our bodies and the bodies of those we raise. This is beyond the subject of womanhood. This cuts into the whole spirituality of humanness, of the cycle of life. Mothers will do anything to protect their children, their rights and their beliefs.
My son is now 5, with a new sister he completely adores. My body has been newly stretched out and ripped up, skin hanging, laden with glossy stripes and marks. My son likes to pat my belly and marvel at the fact that “his baby” was in there. Actually, he likes to pat it, and giggle, telling me to watch as my stomach jiggles. Cute, right? In reality, it is sweet, innocent and free of judgement. He relays easily that my stomach jiggles because it had to get extra big to hold a baby. He traces the stretch marks with his dirt-lined fingernails and compares me to a zebra. And I let him do these things, and reminisce about when his baby grew in my belly, and how he watched my belly grow and grow and grow as he waited for his sister. On occasion, he’ll pull my shirt up, asking to see my belly, to go over how his baby was in and is now out. And I let him, without a gripe and groan about my extra skin—or how my pants will never fit me again, and these marks will never go away. Because he hasn’t put a negative on it yet—he doesn’t know yet that society thinks he should. To him, he is enthralled with the story (and, who am I kidding, the jiggling). And how much I prefer that than he think I need to resemble the billboards with the new mom holding her baby next to a sinewy six-pack.
There can be no tearing down a mother anymore- not for the natural and incredible acts we are able to do and go through for this world, for life. Breastfeeding, pregnancy, childbirth, post-birth life, adoption, fostering, caregiving—however you mother. It is all an incredible art. The hardest ever incredible art.
Now, I know that some people might truly want one of these mommy make overs for valid or legitimate reasons, or that this opinion doesn’t fall to all. But on behalf of at least some moms, I would like to say that this is not the new norm. This is not the new ‘gender reveal party’. It’s not the new, ‘well it turns out a mini-van really IS more convenient’. This is not the obligatory next level of motherhood in our society.
Women are smashing patriarchal views left and right—for themselves and their children. We’ve done it with breastfeeding, with gender norms. And we must do it for our bodies, and how our children will see their own bodies as well as others’. The thing about moms, is that they, by their very nature, have a future world to protect, and they will fight to take anything down that puts harm to that world. And this includes what advertisers and the beauty industry tries to create as a new normalcy. Each of us is beautiful, and our bodies hold the story of such a vital transitive change we have experienced. One for celebrating and marveling at—like my son still does—not for shaming and surgically reforming in a state of disgust.
Warrior moms who stare a few extra moments in the mirror feeling less than, please remind yourselves that you are a marvel. Replay the story of your body in your mind. Remove the criticism you have inserted in that story. Because the story, and your body, are astonishing. To allow yourself to exist with pride and comfort in a body that has been through miraculous transformation against the loud noise of the culture around you is a radical act. It is a necessary and incredible step in establishing a healthy perspective to better your balance of wellness. And while not always easy, I’ll forever encourage the embracing and power of that radical knowing.
Know and recognize the internal criticisms you are placing on yourself and your body. Label them from their root– which is often unrealistic cultural expectations. Ball them up and remove them from your story, from your body’s story. Allow your body to exist in its own state, free of that judgement, of the inserts of media and advertisements. Get to know yourself and your body without those inserts. You own your narrative, don’t be afraid to re-write.
