Jennifer Garner is a Zero

I am driving home from my son’s preschool. I had the privilege to read one of Casey’s favorite books to the class, The Pigeon Wants a Puppy by Mo Willems (love him and advise everyone to read his children’s books for a good laugh regardless of whether or not you actually have children). I’m feeling good, smiling, hearing their laughter replay in my mind as I drive. It's a good morning. Something on the radio catches my attention. Seems Jennifer Garner is to be congratulated on finally reaching a size 0. I blink, that one big blink thing you do to clear your eyes when they suddenly glaze over. The radio personality reads the copy saying,

“Jennifer Garner on how she went from a size 6 to a 0. She says she got on the treadmill, stopped stuffing her face and lost the weight.”

And the first thing I think is: What weight? She was a six. Isn’t six small? I’ve seen her in movies and she’s nearly emaciated. Then I think: Thank God my daughter is too young to have to deal with that. Sneaking fear: What if she isn’t?

I’m reminded of a Kohl’s ad that drove a friend of mine to distraction a few years ago, in which an extraordinarily skinny model was posing holding a newborn baby. Apparently all of her pregnancy weight fell off of her the day her infant was born. Only a few weeks ago, I noticed that the girls in the Target flyer advertising sales on fitness wear were skinnier than the pages they were printed on. They had no muscle tone whatsoever and I’m pretty sure that if asked to run a mile, despite their small size, they’d have all passed out from overexertion.

Thing is that I’ve been noticing for years now how women are shrinking. Not actually physically, but our sizes are. Before having children I wore a size Z (using alphabet because a lady never reveals her dress size). I’ve had two kids and now am a size X (see, that’s two letters less in the alphabet – alphabet math!). Hmm. Not quite right. I’m no smaller now than I was before. I’d argue that my hips and rear are a tad bigger because let’s face it, time is a bitch. So what is happening?

I recently read Laurie Halse Anderson’s newest YA novel Wintergirls. The protagonist, a teenage girl with anorexia, must deal with the shocking loss of her best friend to bulimia and depression and decide whether or not her own life is worth saving. This was devastating to read on so many levels. The author did a hauntingly good job writing from the girl’s damaged perception of herself and the world around her. So much so that even though I wanted to cry each time she counted calories and felt defeated by eating a meal that consisted of 80 calories (that’s like half a snack for me folks!), I could begin to see the truth behind her obsession.

So now all of these pieces are falling together and I’m feeling my job as a mother and positive role model for my children is becoming more and more crushing. When asked, most moms will tell you that what they want most for their children is for them to be healthy and happy. I know that is all I’ve ever wanted. It is too bad that in many cases there is a big discrepancy between these two. Young women (and men too) find it harder and harder to be happy with healthy. And I’m even more devastated by my lack of solutions. I just know that I want so much more for my kids than for them to strive to be a zero, a nothing, a void, a gaping empty hole.

For resources on eating disorders visit The National Eating Disorder Association

In addition:

My aunt in Rhode Island sent this interview with a writer she knows named Dara Chadwick who just published You'd Be so Pretty if . . . Teaching Our Daughers to Love Their Bodies - Even when We Don't Love Our Own.