Once upon a time there lived a Misfit and her Mini-Me.
Our Misfit was all about taking up space in the world, being big, strong and HEARD.
Her Mini-Me, while only 8.75 years old, appeared to follow suit.
She, too, loved being
She knew she was her own superhero:
She loved the SIZE & *BULK* of her burgeoning muscles and would display them without being asked.
Our Misfit was pretty damn
She wasn’t arrogant or judgmental—but she thought she had the whole MamaRoleModelThing down.
Until she stumbled.
Until she almost fell into the ABYSS not of FAT TALK but OLD TALK.
Great googly moogly I look tired. I look like a grandma this morning!
(sunglasses hide the tireds.)
Or uttering things like:
Holy crapballs I’m old. I’m like a ninety year old right angle in the mornings!
this is EXACTLY how our Misfit feels in the mornings!
She’d NEVER whine I feel fat!! yet she found herself *whining* I feel a bazillion years old this morning!! without a second thought.
She found herself *matter-of-factly* stating to her Mini-Me upon climbing out of her beloved beanbag chair:
Wait. Wait. I’m not a spring chicken any more. MamaOld. This may take a while.
(whilst grunting and groaning for effect.)
One morning after some such I AGING! I CREAKY! remark Mini-Me turned to her Mama and said:
Mama, I don’t want you to be old.
And, in a way reminiscent of the best John Hughes movie montages, all the OLD TALK snippets our Misfit had uttered came rushing back to her.
- Comments made in jest to a Mini-Me who didn’t yet ‘grasp’ the jesting.
- Comments made to her husband (in front of her mini) in the name of jovial “we’re aging together!” camaraderie.
- Comments made about being or getting old said with humor—but damaging to little ears none-the-less.
Our Misfit realized–in this one swift moment–all the ‘pridefullness’ she’d possessed at never uttering the words diet, fat or good/bad-foods was eclipsed by the message she’d been sending about anxiety/loss of self-love related to aging.
Anxiety and worry she didn’t feel—but that mattered NOT when they were what exited her mouth and found their way into little ears.
(She planned to be doing this when she was 80!)
Once she became aware of the foible of old talk our Misfit noticed it all around her.
She overheard the same interactions—mother/child—on the playground.
She eavesdropped on “old talk” between female strangers.
She carried on her own old talk conversations with friends—she was nowhere near perfect!
Which all led her to ponder:
As we women make strides in conquering FAT TALK must we, invariably, switch to a different variety of negative self-talk?
And, as all good misfits do, she decided to bring her queries to you.
- Whether in your 20’s or long past 40: have you found you’ve slipped into ‘old talk?’
- Have you discovered old-talk is the new *fat-talk* as a way for to women connect/relate?