As a former life guard and collegiate swimmer, I’ve always loved the water. Give me some goggles or a kayak and I can happily spend all day at the lake. I’m usually totally confident in the water. But when a friend recently suggested we go paddle boarding with our kids, I had a major crisis of confidence. What if I couldn’t do it? What if I fell off and couldn’t get back on the board? Would people laugh at the sight of my size 22 body flopping into the water?
As my kids begged me to say yes, I hesitated.
The truth is that I’ve wanted to try paddle boarding for years, but I’d always let my fear of fat girl failure stand in my way.
When you are a plus-sized person, it’s so easy to internalize a set of unwritten rules for preventing public embarrassment and shaming. Don’t show too much skin. Don’t dance in public. Don’t eat more than anyone else at a restaurant. Don’t fall or trip or let ice cream drip down your chin — nothing that someone might film and put on YouTube as part of a “hilarious fat fails” video (and, yes, that’s totally a thing that people do).
The fear of fat girl failure is a response to a culture that regularly tells overweight people that we should be embarrassed of our bodies, ashamed for taking up space, and apologetic for thighs that touch and bellies that have stretch marks. It’s all too easy for me to assume that if people see me fail at something athletic, it must be because of my weight. This fear of fat girl failure keeps women like me from going to gym, from riding their bikes in public, and even from swimming laps at the pool, all things that can make us healthier and happier. Fear of failure, especially of coming in last, almost kept me from showing up at the starting line for my last 5K and has kept me from trying the new dance class at my gym.
I’ve spent a lot of my adult life learning to love myself for the body that I have.
I’ve come to accept that I’ll never be the 145-pound girl I was in high school and that’s OK. The body I have now is strong and soft and responsible for bringing my kids into the world. Even though it can be hard to shut off the voices that tell me I’m a failure for my weight, I’m determined to model self-love to my kids, even when I sometimes have to fake it.
My daughter, who is 6, is totally comfortable in her own skin. She’s strong, confident, and loves the water as much as I do. Over the course of the summer, I’ve watched her master the freestyle and jumping off the diving board and learning how to dive to the bottom of the pool. It would break my heart if she ever lost the feeling of pure joy that comes with jumping in a cold lake or stopped trying to learn new things just because she was afraid of being laughed at or looking less than perfect.
As we loaded the kids in the car and headed for the lake, I couldn’t help but think this was one of those parenting moments where I get to decide exactly what kind of behavior I want to model for my kids. Do I sit on the beach in a cover up and model shame?
Or do I rock a cactus-print bikini and show my kids that everyone deserves a chance to be brave and even to, yes, fail?
I would love to say that I mastered the paddle board on the first try, but I didn’t. It took multiple attempts to get to standing. I was way wobbly. I fell in a few times and I’m sure the word “graceful” didn’t come to anyone’s mind as I tried to get back up. But eventually I did it and I slowly paddled out past the dock and into the open water.
In that moment, I forgot all the times I fell. I forgot about all the people who saw me do it and who maybe even laughed. The only people I cared about were sitting on the beach, cheering for their mom.
If I hadn't decided that I deserved the chance to fail, I would have missed out.
Not only was it a beautiful day at the lake, but also the chance to show my kids that every body should get a chance to try new things. I can't wait to do it again.
