I just forwarded the article I'm about to mention to all of my female friends and relatives, and encourage anyone with young women in their lives to do the same.
I have tried to avoid any "CNN Health"-related news items ever since Dr. Sellout Gupta attempted to take Michael Moore to task over the movie "Sicko," but CNN.com's "Health for Her" section had an article that I think is fascinating and important. The only gender issue that seems to be receiving daily play in the media now is Hillary Clinton's candidacy, and I hope this study is not overlooked.
The article is titled "Girls' self-image may affect future weight".
CHICAGO, Illinois (AP) -- Where a teenage girl sees herself on her school's social ladder may sway her future weight, a study of more than 4,000 girls finds.
Those who believed they were unpopular gained more weight over a two-year period than girls who viewed themselves as more popular. Researchers said the study showed how a girl's view of her social status has broader health consequences.
When I read this, I was immediately transported back to my eighth grade year at an all-girls school in an upscale New Jersey town. I was searching for my eighth-grade graduation dress with my mom, and we wound up in the pre-teen section of Nordstrom's. Trying to find clothes to properly fit my by then 5'7" form wasn't easy, but the fact that I was also a pre-teen size 12/14 was even harder, emotionally and physically. I was a "big girl," I felt awkward and unpopular, and sometimes faked being sick just to avoid having to go to school and be mocked by the pretty, popular girls for my flood pants and flab.
It was absolutely painful. Now, as a size 6, 5'10" woman with a bustling social life, handsome live-in boyfriend, good job, and many wonderful girlfriends, I throw photos of myself in those days away. I don't want to remember the self-conciousness, the struggle to pull on a dress that was too small or pants that were too tight, and I don't want to see the group shots showing me amongst my former classmates that offer indisputable evidence that I was larger than average.
It wasn't until 10th grade where I'd started forming friendships with boys from my summer camp and church youth group, playing sports I enjoyed, and finally forged friendships with some of the kinder girls at my all-girls school who valued sense of humor above looks and parents' paychecks that I began to lose weight, dropping quickly from a size 14 to a 10 to an 8 by the time I started college. I didn't starve myself to lose the weight, although I did have some unhealthy eating habits later in college, I simply felt happier, ate slightly less, and was more active.
The girls in the study were still growing -- their average age was 15 -- and all of them gained some weight. However, those who rated themselves low in popularity were 69 percent more likely than other girls to increase their body mass index by two units, the equivalent of gaining about 11 excess pounds. (The body mass index, or BMI, is a calculation based on height and weight.)
Girls who put themselves on the higher rungs of popularity also gained some excess weight, but less -- about 6½ pounds.
Both groups, on average, fell within ranges considered normal. But a gain of two BMI units over two years is more than the typical weight gain for adolescent girls, the researchers said.
"How girls feel about themselves should be part of all obesity-prevention strategies," said the study's lead author, Adina Lemeshow, who began the study as a Harvard School of Public Health graduate student. She now works at the New York City Department of Health and Mental Hygiene.
I have tried to forget how miserable it was to get dressed in the morning as a big adolescent. No matter how much I loved an outfit I would buy, I knew the number on the tag was higher than those on the tags of my classmates. It was a vicious spiral: I wanted to make friends but was teased constantly because of how I looked, and spending time by myself instead of out being active with friends meant I would be more likely to eat and watch TV and stay inside alone.
It breaks my heart that there are so many young girls today who are in the same position I found myself in 13 years ago. I think it is important that we teach our daughters, sisters, cousins, granddaughters, nieces, and all young women that your dress size does not determine your worth. No one asks Hillary Clinton her dress size. I may not be supporting her in the primaries, but I am so thankful that the first viable female presidential candidate is not botoxing and liposuctioning herself between stump speeches. I think Hillary is a beautiful, natural woman.
I think actresses like Meryl Streep and Kate Winslet are among the most beautiful in Hollywood, and to my knowledge, the fact that they have some curves does not prevent them from winning Oscar nominations or being popular. Yet actresses like Keira Knightley grace movie posters that young women see everyday. Bigger people are made fun of in magazines and on TV commercials, Jennifer Love Hewitt has been called "fat" at a size 2, and the minute Tyra Banks stopped being a supermodel and got her womanly figure back, she was attacked by the self-appointed Skinny Police too.
Hollywood is not real. We need to give young women realistic role models, and teach them that what you look like has nothing to do with your likeability or popularity.
Even though I'm perfectly happy as a size 6, when I find my pants getting tight around the holidays or feel bloated, I feel that familiar panic creeping over me. I'll ask my boyfriend "do I look like I'm gaining weight?" a question he outright refuses to answer anymore. "You want to look like Mary-Kate Olsen?" he asks. "That's just disgusting. You're a woman, not a little boy with no chest, hips, or booty."
When I find myself getting that anxiety again, I turn first and foremost to my girlfriends, the encouraging support system that tells me even though I'm not fat, they'd love me if I was. We do Pilates together, we go for walks, we take yoga. I don't run marathons, but I don't feel ashamed when I stand on the sidelines to cheer along a friend who does.
If I'd had that support system as a 13-year-old, I'm fairly certain I wouldn't have found myself crying in the fitting room of a Nordstrom's days before my eighth grade graduation.