Practice What You Preach

I want to begin by calling myself to the carpet. I am one of the very worst offenders when it comes to not practicing what I preach. In my defense, my (possibly overzealous) attempt to warn younger people of the ills of eating disorders stems entirely from my experience with the consequences. I am terribly desperate to help other people avoid the struggles I have endured. I have had a few ballsy people point out that I am hardly the one to extoll the virtues of self-care and body acceptance. It's apparently difficult to take body-love advice from a woman who still shops in the juniors section.

That being said, my mission remains the same. My pastor, a woman I love and admire tremendously, once told me that she preaches what she needs to hear. That's how I blog. I need this reminder now more than ever, which is why I'm bringing it to you.

Our words and actions carry weight. Far more than we know. Especially when we take on roles like parenting, mentoring, teaching, or otherwise interacting with youth. We become examples. We have the option of either being positive role models or cautionary tales. What we do and what we say is absorbed by a younger generation, still innocent, still idealistic. They look to us to know what they should do, and sometimes, what they should not do. Our influence cannot be trivialized.

I have made it a point in the last few years to educate and inform parents and children about the importance of making healthy choices. In the meantime, I have made some very unhealthy choices myself. I have given speeches on the dangers of eating disorders to auditoriums full of high school students only to head off to rehab weeks later. I have carefully instructed my own children on the necessity of a balanced diet and moderate exercise, only to sit down to dinner meticulously portioning out my boiled chicken and steamed carrots before heading out on a run. I have blogged about ignoring media influences while poring over the latest issue of Shape, criticizing myself for not having an eight-pack. To put it plainly, I've been a hypocrite.

I began to wonder what type of people I myself look up to. Kate Moss, still heroin chic after all these years? The battalion of Victoria's Secret models, strutting their nearly-naked stuff in thousands of catalogs? Any of the countless gangly, pale, hollow-cheeked actresses I watch on television and at the movie theater? No, no, and no. My heroes are Eleanor Roosevelt, Harriet Tubman, my grandma. Women who were and are incredibly intelligent, fiercely bold, unimaginably brave. Women who put justice and mercy and compassion before all else. Women who care far more about the welfare of humanity than about the size of their dresses.

When I consider the impact my presence might have on other, younger people, do I want it to be body-related? Do I want my students to remember me as their "skinny teacher?" Do I want my own precious children to reflect on how little I ate, how disciplined I was? Absolutely not. I want to blaze a trail of bravery, of justice, of love. I want to be remembered as a woman who wasn't afraid to hold strong for her convictions. I want to be remembered as a woman who was resolute in her principles. I want to be remembered as a woman who stood toe-to-toe with her demons and never, ever backed down.

That's the legacy I want to leave. In order to do so, I must act now. What sort of influence do you want to have, and what do you need to do to guarantee it?