How to talk to your daughter about her body, step one: don’t talk to your daughter about her body, except to teach her how it works.
Don’t say anything if she’s lost weight. Don’t say anything if she’s gained weight.
If you think your daughter’s body looks amazing, don’t say that. Here are some things you can say instead:
“You look so healthy!” is a great one.
Or how about, “you’re looking so strong.”
“I can see how happy you are – you’re glowing.”
Better yet, compliment her on something that has nothing to do with her body.
Don’t comment on other women’s bodies either. Nope. Not a single comment, not a nice one or a mean one.
Teach her about kindness towards others, but also kindness towards yourself.
Don’t you dare talk about how much you hate your body in front of your daughter, or talk about your new diet. In fact, don’t go on a diet in front of your daughter. Buy healthy food. Cook healthy meals. But don’t say “I’m not eating carbs right now.” Your daughter should never think that carbs are evil, because shame over what you eat only leads to shame about yourself.
Encourage your daughter to run because it makes her feel less stressed. Encourage your daughter to climb mountains because there is nowhere better to explore your spirituality than the peak of the universe. Encourage your daughter to surf, or rock climb, or mountain bike because it scares her and that’s a good thing sometimes.
Help your daughter love soccer or rowing or hockey because sports make her a better leader and a more confident woman. Explain that no matter how old you get, you’ll never stop needing good teamwork. Never make her play a sport she isn’t absolutely in love with.
Prove to your daughter that women don’t need men to move their furniture.
Teach your daughter how to cook kale.
Teach your daughter how to bake chocolate cake made with six sticks of butter.
Pass on your own mom’s recipe for Christmas morning coffee cake. Pass on your love of being outside.
Maybe you and your daughter both have thick thighs or wide ribcages. It’s easy to hate these non-size zero body parts. Don’t. Tell your daughter that with her legs she can run a marathon if she wants to, and her ribcage is nothing but a carrying case for strong lungs. She can scream and she can sing and she can lift up the world, if she wants.
Remind your daughter that the best thing she can do with her body is to use it to mobilize her beautiful soul."
—skoppelkam on Wordpress
On a chilly night in February, Jessica Ojeda, 23, sat shivering in her car while police arrested her fiancé for drunken driving.
It was shortly after 1:30 a.m. and they were still a couple of miles from their Salem home. Her cellphone was dead; she didn’t have money for a taxi. Police put her fiancé, William Helle, in the back of a police car and told Ojeda they were impounding the vehicle.
"I don’t have any way to get home," Ojeda said to the deputy. "Wait a minute, you can’t just pull me over and leave me here."
But a Marion County police report confirms that Ojeda was, indeed, left there — alone at 2 a.m., walking along Hawthorne Avenue NE to a nearby hotel to call for a ride.
Most law enforcement agencies don’t have policies in place requiring officers to go out of their way to help people who wind up in situations like Ojeda’s.
We’re only halfway through 2014, and state legislators have already introduced a whopping 468 restrictions intended to limit, control or otherwise regulate women’s reproductive rights.
How many comparable bills have been introduced to regulate men’s reproductive health care during this period? Zero.
Something’s very wrong with this picture.