Gender Neutral: Thoughts Beyond Pink And Blue- Part 1

I have five daughters, and as I sit here trying to find the words to define them, I can’t. I mean one is definitely a tomboy and likes boyish things. Comparatively, the other is totally a ‘girly-girl’ and loves headbands, clips and all things frills (often like six at a time), yet unexpectedly opted for a bright blue bike when the only other option was pink. And the others are neither girly-girls nor are they tomboys. They have never wanted to dress up as fairies, or princesses or anything as easy as that for Purim (Jewish Holiday which involves dressing up in costumes).

Generally speaking, after we managed to purge the pink from my first daughter’s birth, my girls were satisfied wearing whatever their sisters wore. But I do recall that there was this one stage where all Huni (my second oldest) would wear was white shorts, and I was okay with it because I knew that once she started at her religious Jewish school they would be restricted to only wearing skirts and dresses. Outside of this, they have always been pretty indifferent about what they wore, but, as it turns out, I on the other hand, seem to be less than casual about their choices.

‘Why?’, you ask? Well, I am not exactly sure- I am working through it myself, so bear with me.

Let’s start with me, with the stuff that I don’t like. I hate my hips. And when I am pregnant, I think I am fat and hate it (I mean, now that I’ve written that down I know it’s ridiculous, I mean we’re all bigger when we’re pregnant for an excellent reason). Since becoming a mother, I have to work so hard not to let my daughters know that I have serious body issues. Every day, it’s an active effort in the company of my girls, not to look in the mirror and share my toxic self-assessing thoughts. And yes, I’ve read those stories about women who grew up thinking their mums were fat, looked back at photos, and realized that those mums were never overweight, it was just that their mums used to say. It's not a stretch to believe that such modelled behaviour is contributing to our ongoing body issues, general unhappiness, or creating unrealistic expectations about our bodies and forging unhealthy relationships with our own body and self-image.

And just as I wouldn’t share that I feel fat in something, I would never tell my girls they look fat in something. When they call people fat in a descriptive way, I don’t reprimand them, because I honestly believe there is nothing wrong with being fat or overweight. I tell my girls they are beautiful on the outside because of their beautiful souls. I tell them it’s more important to be healthy, to exercise and eat well, than the size you are. I try to deemphasize the skinny part. And yet, I am still not sure I am doing it right, because two of my daughters are already making negative judgements about their bodies. One daughter (who I swear looks like a stalk of celery), thought she had fat thighs from about age 10. Another, has put on some weight and has said “I know I’m not fat, I just don’t like the way I look”. I swear I have thought, perhaps even illicitely mumbled, those exact words 1000’s of times before. And even though I thought I was more or less successfully fighting against it, there is no denying it; I have projected my body image issues onto my girls.

Then, a couple of months ago, I had a Titanic moment (think just the tip of the iceberg). We were on a hike. A small, flat hike with lots of greenery and a bit of water here and there. Nothing particularly challenging, but it was on this trail that I noticed the difference between my 5-year-old daughter and her friend, a boy, Rafi. This daughter, Rachelli, is tiny, about two sizes smaller than her age- she has a tiny bum and diminutive features, only extenuated by her leggings. Similarly, her equally little friend, with his blonde curls, blue eyes and cargo pants also has a tiny bum and diminutive features- the only difference was his pants gave away nothing. But I did notice that with his little bum, no hips or elasticated waistband that it was hard for him to keep his pants up. I watched them, amused as they walked down the path, greenery on all sides; one skipping along unaffected and the other, kept pausing to hitch up his pant every few steps. It was then that I realized, Rafi needed leggings!

And why should my little bean have to wear pants that make her bum look so small? Why can’t she wear cargo pants or whatever pants suit her style? And then it hit me. It was me. I tried to shake off the feeling, the guilt because I realized that I was the one who wouldn’t put her in cargo pants, not even pink ones, because subconsciously I thought it would make her bum look much bigger than it was. Judge me all you want, but sadly, I like my kids to look slim.

To read more about my thoughts on and journey with gender-neutral clothes, continue through to part two.