DREAM BIG

This piece I originally wrote for the memoir 4 years ago is a glimpse into what sparked my drive to heal and shift. Having a little girl has given me an entirely different perspective on myself and the world around me.

My initial motivation behind the memoir was to document my reckoning with nearly 2 decades of body image issues and disordered eating, and provide her with a handbook that would save her from the same struggles. I know now she will inevitably have her own unique battles no matter how I raise her, or how much cultural progress is made. Pain is an unavoidable aspect of the human experience. Even still, she remains one of my greatest inspirations. She stirs my ambition to promote meaningful change through creativity every single day.

I hope when life throws her for a loop, that in forging ahead through my personal hang-ups with transparency, she will see in me an example of the liberation and fulfillment that wait on the other side of the pain...that she will know even when dreams feel out of reach, they never abandon us. Sometimes, they are simply growing and changing right along with us, waiting for the right time to launch.

I am putting dishes away, when a Disney Channel commercial grabs my attention. I see it has gotten Louise’s, too. She’s looking up with curiosity as the music plays. “For every girl who dreams big” it says, “there is a princess to show her it’s possible.”

The screen shifts from every day girls doing extraordinary things, to the Disney princesses in their most brave, and bold scenes:

Rapunzel swings to freedom from her captor’s castle-A girl swings fearlessly from a rope into the water below…

Mulan sharpens her sword-A girl takes the stance of a warrior on the mat of her karate class...

Sleeping beauty and Jasmine twirl across the screen-One girl, leaps gracefully in a ballet leotard, another tumbles across a balance beam…

A swimmer flips-Ariel splashes up onto a rock...

A girl in a lab coat observes her scientific discovery...Another shouts into a mega phone leading a crowd of her peers with a message of peace…Another wears a graduation cap and a smile…The next campaigns for class office. An astronaut, surfer, horseback rider, skateboarder-all girls, all glorified for their most powerful and unique assets. The words, “Dream Big Princess” splay across the screen as Pocohantas stands, arms wide, with the world at her feet, and I watch as Louise’s arms shoot towards the ceiling in a burst of triumph.

It could be a stretch to call some of these films empowering, but Louise is obviously, physically even, moved by the mash-up and message of the brief segment. We both are. I wipe a tear and rush to squeeze her squishy toddler body. I take note of the commercials that follow.

A mother lifting her little boy and transforming into a Super Hero in his eyes as he says, “you’re strong, mommy.”

A female CEO.

A father, cross-legged on the floor emerging with a head full of bows after play time with his little girl.

I try to remember commercials of my own childhood. “1-800-94-Jenny”, the Jenny Craig catch phrase, immediately comes to mind. I remember the ‘94 representing the year, so this means I was clued into the multi-billion dollar diet industry by age eight. I could never forget the Sheeba catfood commercial. For some reason, David and I made up our own jingle for that one, but that’s irrelevant.

The only other that stands out is the world famous Doritos Super Bowl ad of a model setting off fire alarms with each crunch of a chip, slinking through a bar of wide-eyed men, jaws dropping to the floor as her wet shirt clings to her fake Baywatch boobs. Seems like there was another with the same model posed in a sexy sports car/nacho cheese scene. She’s certainly not to blame for my body image hang-ups- God only knows what that poor soul went through- but the flashbacks spark a lightbulb moment. It’s the first time it occurs to me how much the cultural narrative shapes us.

In my recent,desperate attempts to understand myself, I’ve been stuck thinking I must somehow be a far weaker person than I ever knew. I have reached into the depths of my memory trying to pull threads, place blame, isolate one particular incident that pushed me towards a path of insecurity and self-destruction, but I never could put my finger on it. It’s just the way I’m wired, I’d decided. Something is off with me. I was set up to thrive- a loving family, a feminist education, safe communities- I must have an innate flaw that kept me from becoming more than a hungry stay-at-home mom with aspirations of socialite status.

But, now it’s as vivid as that fucking chip commercial. There wasn’t one isolated incident that lead me to starve and sell myself short-there didn’t have to be. There was a lifetime of them. I didn’t arrive on Earth damaged, nor was there a failure on the part of my parents or mentors to help me establish a stronger sense of self-worth. At some point I just couldn’t hear the messages they gave me, the messages I knew to be true, over what the world around me was screaming. The commercials, movies, the degrading music we laughed and sang along to, the unwarranted whistles and requests for smiles, the praise of the pretty and polite - it all seeped into the script of who I believed I was supposed to be. I am worth looking at, and not much more than that.

That night I lay Louise in her crib and make the shape of the cross on her forehead with my thumb- a bedtime blessing ritual. “God bless you..” I whisper, as always, this time adding, “dream big princess.”

Before I reach the door she has popped her head of blonde curls over the edge of the iron railing. “Dream big, mama” she shouts into the night.

I close the door behind me and pause, sliding down it. I cry outside of her bedroom imagining how different life might be for her. My dreams feel lost, but what if a more modern world allows hers to remain within in reach? I catch my breath as I cling to the hope that I could be one of millions encouraging her to dream big, rather than one fighting millions demanding she stay small.