Mother Knows Best
By Cammi Norville
I maneuvered my work truck into the dirt driveway and killed the engine. My coworker and I hopped out of the truck, ducked under the overgrown trellis, and climbed a small set of wooden stairs to an open porch.
It was the middle of a three-week work stint trapping sage-grouse for conservation research and we had come down from the mountains into town to resupply food and water. We swung by a colleague’s house on the way out to drop off some work samples that needed to be frozen and to shower.
The middle-aged woman walked out and met us on the porch. She was—and still is—one of the only older females in the wildlife field that I’ve worked and interacted with. She’s incredibly knowledgeable and has taken me under her wing in the past. So this is a woman I have a lot of respect for, and look up to. She’s probably the closest thing I have to a mother figure and female mentor in my professional life.
She greeted us and gave me a tight hug. She stepped back and looked me up and down.
“Well, you’ve gained weight!”
I’m not entirely sure what my face did at that moment. I was so surprised by the comment that I probably looked like a deer caught in the headlights. I glanced at my coworker and saw her mouth was open in shock. We made eye contact and she awkwardly laughed.
I briefly glanced down at myself. I was wearing a form-fitting cropped tank top and high-waisted black hiking pants. The shape of my body was more visible to her than the clothes she normally saw me in, as I typically worked in loose pants and baggier shirts. But I hadn’t gained weight since I had last seen her. If anything, I’d slimmed down due to the physical exertion I’d been experiencing from working the past couple of weeks in the White Mountains at 10,000 feet.
At that moment, I chose to assume the comment was a poor attempt at sarcasm. So, also laughing awkwardly (because what else do you do in this situation), I responded in the only way I could think of. “Yeah, you know the White Mountains. It’s rough up there.”
I think she could tell her comment had caught me off guard.
“Good for you,” she said, then quickly changed to subject to the tattoos my coworker and I had visible on our arms, as she ushered us inside so we could shower. After my shower, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror naked, I stared at my body trying to see what she saw that would cause her to say I had gained weight.
Does she really think I’ve gained weight? So what if she does? It’s not like gaining some weight is a bad thing. Why would she say that though? She must’ve meant it in a sarcastic way. I think I’ve probably actually lost weight since I’ve been hiking up mountains for miles and miles at work every night. Anyway, weight isn’t important, being healthy is. But still, why would she say that?”
The author as a baby, with her mom
This stream of consciousness was occurring rapidly all while I looked at my body from all angles. Her comment was definitely an inappropriate thing to say in today’s societal conversation norms, but why did I care?
This wasn’t the first time—and most likely not the last—that I’ve inspected myself critically in the mirror, poking and prodding at my skin.
Generally, though, I’m very fortunate that I’ve made it to my mid-twenties mostly unscathed in regard to body image. Sure, I don’t feel absolutely fantastic about myself everyday, but I don’t suffer from crippling body dysmorphia or cancel plans because of how I’m feeling about my body that day.
And I think I owe a lot of that to my mom.
I cannot think of an instance in my life when I heard my mom make a negative comment about her own body or appearance or mine and my sisters’ bodies and appearances.
As a little girl, I remember shopping with my mom and watching her try on clothes in the dressing room. If something didn’t fit, she would say, “Oh, this shirt is too small,” or, “These pants are too big.” Never, “I’m too big for this dress,” or, “I’m too small for this shirt.” The language she used always made it clear that the clothes were the problem rather than the body. Because clothes should be made to fit bodies; bodies should not be made to fit clothes. As a kid, I didn’t realize any of this was on purpose. I was just stoked to be shopping and spending time with my mom.
I remember sitting on the dance studio’s floor as a kid before class, listening to the girl a few feet away brag to everyone that she’d only had a bagel and some almonds to eat all day. Some of the other girls seemed impressed. One girl offered her a granola bar that was quickly declined. At the time, I was just confused.
I didn’t understand back then, but certain dance studios and companies can have a very toxic effect on their students. Weekly weigh-ins, snide remarks made by instructors about the dancers’ weights or appearances, hours spent staring at yourself in a mirror trying to reach unattainable perfection. I can only assume that this girl’s perspective at the time on food and eating was partially a byproduct of this toxic culture.
The author, her sisters, and their mother
Growing up, I was taught by my mom to view food as fuel for our bodies, rather than simply “calories.” My mom never really restricted what we could eat, and my sisters and I always had snacks with us everywhere we went. I never heard the word “diet” in my house. So when I heard this girl say she had only eaten a bagel and some almonds and yet still refused a granola bar… Yeah, you could say I was confused.
My mom has always been the most important female role model in my life, even if there were times I didn’t want to admit it (stubborn teenage years, anyone?). She’s an amazing woman and has so many character traits I find inspiring. She is everything I think a strong woman and mother figure should be.
I’m incredibly thankful for my mom’s self-awareness and ability to protect me and my sisters from body negativity. She instilled healthy habits in me that I’m able to continue with now, as an adult.
Until this incident, I liked to imagine that all mothers and maternal figures were as supportive of establishing a healthy body image as my mom. I knew deep down that this probably wasn’t the case, but hadn’t really been faced with an experience to prove otherwise.
So when that seemingly sarcastic comment about my weight was made by another strong maternal role model in my life, it struck a chord.
People have made comments about my appearance or weight before, telling me to eat a cheeseburger or that I’m too skinny. While those things were still uncalled for and uncomfortable to hear, they were generally made by peers or people who were barely acquaintances, not female role models. As I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I realized that what this woman said didn’t bother me because of what she said, but rather because of who she was to me.
Those four words she said to me on the porch went against the blueprint of what I knew a mother figure to be. And that optimistic viewpoint that every mother figure in my life would be self-aware and loving in terms of body image… It was shattered.
I was disappointed and a bit hurt by my own stubborn blindness on the matter, but it made me realize just how thankful I am for my own mother and upbringing.
In today's social media-filled world, it's impossible for anyone to completely avoid body insecurities. By my mom raising me with the love, support, and awareness she did, she was able to make sure, at least, that any body negativity I dealt with in life wasn't learned from her.
My body looks the way it does due to a combination of genetics, which I can’t change, and my lifestyle, which I love. I’m able to say I’m proud of what my body has been able to achieve in twenty-something years on this planet, and now as a young adult, I understand that everything my mom did in regard to body image around my sisters and me was an intentional, thought out, conscious decision.
So on this topic, I really can say mother knows best.
Cammi Norville is a wildlife biologist, based around the Eastern Sierras and Nevada. She enjoys hiking, camping, backpacking, and pretty much any other outdoor activity. Cammi is also Dead Foot Collective’s social media manager. Follow her on Instagram: @_nomadic_cam.
