Daughters

Body Image Dispatch: Dear Skinny Girl

July 21, 2015 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

I have a skinny daughter. She came out of the womb as a wiry, nimble sprite. For years she was in the 5^th percentile for BMI on the pediatric charts. Her natural tendency for sprinting and jumping led her into a decade long love affair with competitive gymnastics. As I watched her tumble and fly, I teetered along with a low grade anxiety praying she wouldn’t break her neck. Then came the day she had to abruptly stop at age 13 as a result of impact related injuries to her elbows. Broken wings.

Devastated by the loss and plummeting endorphins, she redirected her energy bit by bit. My elfin child, made of delicate bones but thick skin, managed to focus on other sports by the time high school came around.

But the years of conditioning and the 20+ hours at the gym delayed her puberty. As a result some people think she’s a child. At 15 that really makes her mad. Yet to her delight she shot past her older sister by an inch or two – a seemingly unexpected reward of her retirement.

But she’s still skinny.

She recently participated in a study assessing lifestyle and body image concerns. She texted me, “Why are there all these questions about feeling fat? What if you feel too thin?” Of course, her observation was keen. (Science can be biased.) Weighing not more than 96 pounds throughout high school, I felt for her. She inherited my body type and could blame our lineage. Unconvincingly, I remarked that she would feel much happier about her body later in life.

But what about now? “I’m just an awkward person, mom.”

“No you aren’t,” I tell her, “but I get that you feel that way.”

I’ve met countless girls and women over the years who feel badly about their bodies; they are often caught in a vicious cycle of negative social comparison. Some of them inflict self-harm and suffer greatly.

Maybe it’s a tired story. We are well aware that poor body image is an epidemic reinforced by social media, ratings and rankings, and cultural images of unnatural beauty standards. But we don’t do much to teach kids how to handle the onslaught. We fail to recognize that their exquisite, delicate brains are meticulously paving belief patterns and behaviors that shape their identities and experiences of the world. They can be brainwashed.

Sadly, many parents can be self-deprecating about their own appearance or critical of others. Friends can be over-invested in appearance and downright mean. One idiosyncratic physical flaw or mannerism can indict a kid to years of torment. Children can easily develop a habit of mind that is overly judgmental and disconnected from their bodies and inner spirits.

I’ve been thinking about what I wish for my daughter knowing that if I tried to have a conversation about body image she might roll her eyes at me. Or else she may quip, “I know I know, mom. Anyways, you are a psychologist. You are supposed to say that.”

But I have no script. The body image curriculums I know so well fall far short of what we really want our girls and boys to inhabit when it comes to body confidence. It’s not just knowledge, cognitive skills or empowerment. That’s too ephemeral.

I believe we need to be more, dare I say it, spiritual.

What do I wish that both my daughters understand – or embody – now? I’ve been reflecting on this for quite a while and what I have discovered is really a wish for all children. If I were to leave a letter under my awkward daughter’s pillow or whisper in her ear, here’s what I would say:

My Skinny Girl,

I have a secret to share. It may be hard to understand now, but trust me.

Our bodies are simply physical vessels containing our expansive souls. With that said, your body is sacred so take gentle care of it.

You were born unto this world with a purpose you will yet discover. With that said, dig deep and let your spirit soar.

The mind is both imaginative and tricky; it will tell you stories about who you are that aren’t true. With that said, listen to your heart more than your head.

The crafted images we see of what we should look or be like are make-believe and can cause disconnection, shame and loneliness. With that said, don’t let others define you.

People can be kind and cruel; mostly they are trying to feel better about who they are. With that said, mindfully gather your tribe of bravehearts.

Don’t be someone else’s happy pill. Some friends aren’t worth the energy it takes to bolster their self-worth at the expense of your own. With that said, compassion is as much about good boundaries as it is about caring.

Being alive means having a fair share of suffering and joy. With that said, it’s good to have both thick skin and an open heart (as you do).

You are gifted with innate emotional intelligence radiating throughout your amazing body, head to toes. With that said, trust your vibes.

We are not confined to our physical bodies alone, but intimately connected to all of humanity and the planet we inhabit. With that said, go forth with fearless love and kindness.

While this may sound strange or unfamiliar, if you remember anything I say, know that you are a cherished angel. With that said, I love you – broken wings and all.

* * *

This article originally appeared on Huff Post Parents, July 14, 2015

Photo Credits:

For the Love of Lipstick: A Tribute to My Mother

May 9, 2015 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

I’ve been using the same lipstick for 20 years. It’s Clinique’s No. 83 Double Truffle. When I found out it was being discontinued, I became obsessed. Whenever I passed a major department store, like an antique collector, I ran in to see if there were any Double Truffles left. I have managed a small stash that might last me another year.

Recently, I needed my makeup professionally done before an interview, and I ran into a MAC store. The unwitting cosmetics girl got in trouble when I insisted on using my own lipstick. I felt bad for her (but not really).

This wasn’t about brand loyalty. It’s an attachment disorder.

In my field of psychology, latching on to things that represent comfort and the safety of mommy – like blankies, snuggle bears or a nightie – is key to healthy relationships. These items are unaffectionately called ‘transitional objects.’ They’re things that a small child uses to self-soothe in the absence of mommy or daddy. What parent doesn’t know the distress of leaving behind a child’s lovie on a park bench or airplane?

They are utterly profound items and eventually out grown. Usually.

My lipstick is one such object for me. Still.

When I was a toddler, my mother, a post-war immigrant from Germany, decided to become an Avon Lady on the sly. My dad was an American dreamer who squandered away any money he earned; she had to feed her girls.

I was enthralled with her secret business. I loved the Avon travel suitcase with its rows of compartments containing miniature lipsticks, nail polish bottles and sample packets of Skin So Soft oils. The lipsticks were the perfect size for me and my sister to play with and put on our baby dolls. We’d even show them off to our chums. For the temperamental child that I was, the orderliness of the travel case became a solace, like a puzzle I could work out. Every month when the new supplies came in, we’d spread the sparkly items across our kitchen table and snap the samples into their proper places.

On many occasions, we’d visit my mother’s growing list of customers who lived among the coastal towns of the Connecticut shore: Marion, Monroe, Norwalk, Shelton and Stamford.

My mother was the perfect salesgirl, a cross between a Sophia Loren and Jackie O.

“Allo Mrs. Conte! How are you today? I have your Lily of the Valley hand cream and other vonderful items!”

She was always invited in to listen to the latest family dramas while she took the lipstick samples and dabbled a rainbow of pinks and reds on their wrists to see what blended with their natural complexion. She gently touched these women as they chatted, a swab of color here and there.

Even though we were on food stamps, my mom would bring the needier families things we no longer could use. It became the norm in our house to neatly fold hand-me-downs because some customer could surely use them. These visits also turned into something else. She became a trusted confidant and somewhat of a philanthropist; an interesting blend of self-care and compassion.

Recently, when I was asked to participate in a local No Make-Up book project by photographer Steve Osemwenkhae, I was downright perplexed. I’m an expert advisor to a beauty brand promoting self-esteem in girls and the founder of an app to promote self-acceptance and empathy in kids. How could I say no to a No Make-Up challenge?

I also have two teenage girls and try to be an authentic and purposeful female role model. A role I inevitably fail. Yet, my 15-year-old keeps me up to date on various girl empowerment and no-make-up campaigns espoused by well-tended celebs or college girls making a public statement on Instagram. Of course, I had to shelve my vanity on principal and agree to be photographed.

When I was sent the close up images, in color and black and white, I could only bear a nanosecond glance.

I mustered the courage much later and revisited the photos with the intent to just sit with my feelings. We teach what we need to learn, I often say. So I told myself, “Be present, withhold any judgment, and be kind.”

Instead, I wanted to weep. Deeply. I was once a pretty girl in an all American kind of way. My husband reminds me that I still look younger than many of my contemporaries, which I attribute to years of yoga and some genetic luck. I don’t spend much energy comparing myself to others. But looking at the photos and seeing the emerging cobwebs of my aging face – finely pixilated, in high definition – was brutal. And there was no “after photo” to accompany them.

I wanted to compare these photos to the ‘me’ I imagined myself to be. She wasn’t there. I began to sweat. My heart thumped. My mind did a reverse flashback, like a near-death experience. I tunneled through almost a half of century of my life.

“Take some deep breaths,” I heard a distant voice whisper. I closed my laptop. And breathed.

I pulled out my Double Truffle lipstick and held it like a worry stone. I thought of my beautiful mother with the azure Avon suitcase in one hand and holding my tiny hand with the other. We were standing at a porch door of her next customer. Magnolias were in bloom.

She let me ring the doorbell.

A version of this post was published on Huff Post Women.

– – –

Image Credits:

Girl with Lipstick © Dreamstime, 2015

No Make Up Series, © Steve Osemwenkhae, 2015

What’s your beauty legacy?

October 7, 2014 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

That’s the question that a new Dove film asks mothers and daughters. In documentary style, moms and their daughters (7-10 years old) are asked – separately – to write two lists: what they like about their bodies and what they don’t like.

The first time I watched the film, all of three minutes, I found myself holding my breath. Oh god, what are my daughters, now ages 14 and 16, adopting about the way I view my body or myself?

In the film, when the mother and daughter pairs’ lists were compared, the things they liked and disliked about their body were remarkably similar. If a mom complained about her legs, so did the daughter. If a mom liked her smile, so did the girl.

I watched the film a few more times, putting myself in the role as mom, and as the daughter…my 8- or 12- or 16-year-old self.

To be sure, some women will watch this film and say, “Oh here’s another mother-bashing moment.” Surprisingly, I don’t feel that way. And I’m in a profession that tends to examine childhood hurts and “empathic failures” of parenting to a fault. Instead, I found the film to be a teachable moment. The moms and girls were relatable and endearing; it made me take pause.

And that is the whole point of the film—coming to a moment of self-awareness about the ways we may be influencing our children, intentionally or otherwise.

It also invites a retrospective lens on what beliefs we may have carried forward that may not have been our own to start with.

When I reflect back on my childhood I remember feeling skinny, awkward and ugly. I was the girl who stuffed a training bra with tissues, with little added result. Yet, this self-consciousness didn’t come as some sort of message from my mother. In fact, she missed, and often dismissed, any coming-of-age angst I may have expressed. But no matter. Culture was an influential teacher, even in the hang loose, hippie heyday of the 1970s where a bra was a non-essential.

As my luck had it, my mother was an extraordinary beauty. I admired and felt proud of her natural good looks as some badge of honor I could benefit from. “Your mom is so pretty!” my girlfriends would say. She was much more than that.

My mom handed down an appreciation of the European aesthetic she grew up in, a value for arts and culture, and the gift of grace. She had an aptitude for pulling herself and her two girls together with virtually no financial resources. In hindsight it’s no surprise that she became an Avon Lady selling cosmetics door-to-door, sashaying into the homes of dour housewives, who were charmed by her German accent and her Sophia Loren looks. She had a talent for helping them feel beautiful not only with make-up and perfume samples, but with the wholehearted attention she poured over them.

I doubt any of her customers, largely middle and lower class women living on the coast of Connecticut, had any idea whatsoever that our family was on food stamps, that her husband left the family bankrupt, and that we relied on the generosity of friends to help get us by.

The beauty legacy I inherited from a beautiful woman was not about the shape of my nose, the thickness of my thighs, or the texture of my hair—timeless issues that so many girls obsess over. As the Dove’s Legacy film portrayed, moms are central role models for their children. They pass on beliefs and feelings about beauty, self-worth and so much more.

The legacy that I inherited was this unspoken rule that under no circumstances could anyone know that we were poor. The trick was we had to have a really good cover. The only way that my sister and I could travel through life was to look very put together, neat and clean, and yet trendy. My mother had style. She sewed our outfits. She frequented the local second hand shop, trading our old clothes for the newer, “gently worn” items of the more fortunate.

It was a childhood lesson in “fake it until you make it.”

This had its consequences as my sister and I became teenagers. I remember my first date, the late bloomer that I was, in my sophomore year in high school. A friend’s older brother, the lanky star of the basketball team, invited me to the homecoming dance. I was excited and terrified at the same time.

My girlfriends’ mothers were buying the current fashion of the early 80s: the dreamy Gunny Sack dresses with lace and high collars. Surely we could not afford a Gunny Sack dress. I cried about it. My mother, to her credit, agreed to buy me a short sleeve blouse of the coveted brand. We then went to the fabric store and bought three yards of a sage green print – to match the ribbon trim in the blouse. We sewed a long flowing skirt. And despite my mom’s resourcefulness, I felt ashamed and angry. I feel badly about it now, but that’s a teenager for you. (Today it’s overpriced Uggs and Lululemon yoga pants that are a topic of contention between my girls and me.)

When I met my date’s mother, holding a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she lavished over me. She droned, “Why, honey, aren’t you simply lovely. You look like a doll.”

I died inside. Indeed, I felt like a Madame Alexander collectable doll. The worst part, of course, was the only judge was me.

Later in college when I started dating a handsome soccer player, I laughed out loud when he later told me that he thought I was a rich girl from the exclusive township of Greenwich, Connecticut. I seemed untouchable, he noted, and this inspired his pursuit.

It’s funny when I think back that this was the beauty legacy I inherited: to be well put together, look wealthy (not poor), and appear out of reach so that no one could know the real story of my life.

This morning I watched my younger daughter getting up an extra half hour early for school so that she could straighten her long hair with an iron. I remember I did the same, but with hot curlers.

No matter what our mothers may want for us, or say to us about how wonderful we are on the inside, or complain about their own body image, there’s no doubt that girls are raised in part by a much larger force: our culture. My older daughter laments about her thick (and luscious) hair that other girls would die for. My younger daughter thinks that she has a round, fat nose which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Yet, I understand girls are a by-product of the communities they live and play in – off line and online. Unquestionably, mothers can’t help but hand down their beliefs or “legacies,” including those that go beyond looks or body image.

It’s interesting to me that my girls are keenly aware that our family is not rich. Self-comparison is the name of the game in adolescence, especially observing the haves and have-nots. They complain that I’m still driving a 14-year old, rusty mini-van because soon they want to drive a much cooler car. Our house could use a paint job. And we’ve never taken a family vacation to Disney World.

Yet, they have no real idea of what it means to be poor, either. That’s because I have done my best to protect them from the experiences I had as a child, which were largely shrouded in secrecy and shame. I can’t say that this is a good thing. My girls have been well protected from the plight of a broken home, relying on food subsidies, or having to put up a good front. They can only imagine it and, frankly, no kid wants to be lectured about it.

I have no doubt that they will experience losses and hardships. Struggle is necessary, as is failure. That’s the only way to understand what it means to fully live in the world. It requires having to draw on inner resources and resilience you don’t know you have until you are tested by life. At the same time, I am mindful that the lessons I want to teach my daughters is not about the necessity of fitting in or standing out – paradoxical messages they get from society – but of the imperative for kindness and compassion. But mostly, I want them to know they have beautiful spirits and a life of purpose.
It’s a subtle teaching and I have no idea if it will work, but I find myself shifting how I speak to them, which de-emphasizes their looks, social dramas, or complaints.

How’s your spirit today?

Be open to the unexpected surprises.

Smile and see who smiles back.

What made you laugh?

Name one delightful thing you experienced today.

Savor the moment.

Do something nice for someone.

Say thank you.

They pretend to ignore me or roll their eyes. But I don’t mind. The point is our lives are full of riches. And one way or another, they will absorb it. That’s the legacy I hope to pass down.

* * *

Resources:

See Dr Tara’s recent article on Dove’s Self-Esteem website.

Dove kicks off the 5th Annual Self-Esteem Weekend at the United Nations on Oct. 9.

Watch Legacy at www.Dove.com/Legacy and tell the world who you #FeelBeautifulFor on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram
Visit www.Dove.com/Legacy or Facebook.com/Dove for more information on the 5^th Annual Dove Self-Esteem Weekend, to access free self-esteem tools and resources specifically created for moms, mentors and teachers to motivate and inspire young girls.

*Disclosure. I am an expert global advisor to the Dove Self Esteem Project, which has a social mission to improve body confidence in girls. I provide expertise on evidence-based content and curriculum development to support educational initiatives on self-esteem and positive body image in girls. My participation on the Dove Self-Esteem Project advisory board is not an endorsement the DOVE products. The opinions stated on my blog/website are my own.

Bring it on! Blame Mom.

April 30, 2014 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

“Ok, just shoot me!” I blurted out to my daughter.

So much for compassionate conversations, which I’ve been practicing as of late. Yet when your 16-year old daughter badgers, badgers and badgers, a mother just wants to flee. It’s a natural reaction to verbal assault!

My daughter is about to get her driver’s license. Yes, in a short month. It’s a blessing and a curse: Less chauffeuring and more parental angst. It also means she’s getting a debit card to have on hand for gas or in an emergency, not to mention having a way to deposit her babysitting money. These are big milestones for a teenager.

So we opened an account with a $25 check from her most recent gig. It was important that she open the account with money she earned, rather than mom and dad giving it to her or reinforcing the childhood notion that all money just magically comes out of ATM machines. The banker was very nice and explained the whole routine and responsibility about having a debit account, overdraft protection and the like. He told her she could access her account online and gave us some directions that he told us we’d forget the minute we walked out the door Needless to say, that’s exactly what happened.

Several days later Sophie insisted on setting up the online access. It was a Sunday night. A laptop was open on the kitchen table with bank brochures. We did not yet have all the information needed, like the card and PIN number which had not yet arrived in the mail. So of course, we couldn’t set it up.

But the man at the bank said we could do this right way.
He said so, mom. Why isn’t this working?
Well, he said we should do it so we don’t forget.

Yes, but we are missing a number, honey. Until we have it we can’t do this. We have to wait. You have $25 in there. Why do you need to see right now? You have school all week. You don’t need an ATM card!

But the man at the bank said we could do this right way.
He said so, mom. Why isn’t this working?
Well, he said we should do it so we don’t forget.

We have to deal with this later in the week. I’m sorry.

No mom. The banker said we could set it up while we wait for the card to come in the mail.
But the man at the bank said we could do this right way.
He said so, mom. Why isn’t this working?

Well obviously we can’t right now and there’s nothing more we can do.

But mommmmm…

OK, JUST SHOOT ME!

I yelled. Yes, I broke down. Patience went out the window. I used a violent image.

I just wanted to get to a yoga class and reset for the upcoming week. And, now I needed the space more than ever. Sophie tore out of the room with a gust, “Jeez, Mom!”

“That could have gone another way,“ remarked my dear husband watching this whole scene in the kitchen.

I thought, Thanks for helping out dear. Thanks for having my back.

Moms get the flak no matter what. It’s moments like these when moms go into a reverie: imagine the French Riviera, a weekend at a spa or disappearing into the vast horizon. Then we shake it off. We forge onward, bruised and tired.

When I was Sophie’s age I was more than sassy. I was angry. I told my mother I hated her numerous times. I blamed her for everything until I was old enough to shift the blame on my deadbeat dad. Much later I forgave them all. It pains me now to think of my teenage years.

Yet, it impresses me now that my mom survived it. She grew up having to go into bomb shelters during WWII. She was tough. And she had a lot to hold over us when it came to pointing out that her daughters were ungrateful and didn’t know what real suffering was. In those moments, such words made me hate her more. I confess I’m tempted to resort to the same ploy with my daughters: “You have a great life, girls. You are privileged to be born into this time and place. You are not suffering like many kids around the world! You’ll see your darn $25 on your bank account next week. Be thankful!”

I just know it won’t go anywhere.

I work with a number of young female college interns. I love them. They reflect back (about a mere 5 years) to being teenagers. Some admit they were brats. Others say they always had a good relationship with their moms. Others confess they got away with so much and they will never ever tell their parents. Cold comfort for this mom.

It’s just not easy being a mother of a teenager. It’s not easy being a daughter, either.

And it’s impossible to reason with any teen, boy or girl, on a mission like Sophie was.

Last year, the author Andrew Solomon reviewed several books on aggression and bullies in our culture, including Emily Bazelon’s “Sticks and Stones.” The NYT book review was entitled “The Brutal Years,” which I found quite apt. I saved the cover as a reminder that these are indeed the tough years and they will pass.

I remembered that headline sitting there at the kitchen table. Clearly, enough was said that evening so I went to yoga. Once there I set my intention.

I forgive myself for all I have done and not done.
I forgive Sophie for all she has had done and not done.
I love you, both.

It’s a forgiveness mantra that works for me because it includes omissions.

Sophie didn’t speak to me for two days until she needed a ride, of course. As a mom there’s no way I can or will be everything my daughters need. I will fail in ways I won’t even know for years – if or when they have the words, reflection, or courage to tell me.

By then I hope they will have the compassion I now hold for my mother. I have found empathy for my younger teen self. I forgive her, too. The hardest part is having kindness toward myself right now in this brutal moment of parenthood.

It is a practice indeed.

* * *

Mother’s Day is just around the corner. A great time to practice self-kindness.

Check out my Self- Compassion Kit!

5 Videos Every Mom and Daughter (and Son) Should Watch Together

March 14, 2014 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

Raising girls is hard. Raising boys is hard. We live in a culture where toys are more gendered than ever. The statistics of violence against women has not changed in decades. Aggression in boys and men is on the rise. And the rate of pharmaceuticals given to children keeps increasing. It’s a wonder if any parent can get a restful night’s sleep. My girls tell me to stop reading, that I tend to think the worst, and that I worry too much. On the other hand, I’m the cool mom in the group, they have never been grounded, and as a family we hardly ever fight. Some something is working.

But since having conversation about serious issues with my teenage girls tends to fall flat, I have found videos to be the next best thing to getting a message across. Here are my 5 top picks:

1) Oscar Winner Lupita Nyong’o Speech on Black Beauty in Hollywood, presented at Essence Magazine conference (video)

A flower couldn’t help but bloom inside me.

Inspired by the actresses in The Color Purple that led her to a career in film, Lupita describes her childhood aches about beauty. She begins by reading a letter from a little girl and then shares her own story. Lupita wished to God she had lighter skin and prayed every night. But change never happened. Her perspective did.

With her mom in the audience Lupita tells the story of her transformation from self-hate to self-love. Her mother told her: “You can’t eat beauty… What she meant was, you can’t rely on how you look to sustain you. What actually sustains us, what is fundamentally beautiful, is compassion. For yourself and for those around you. That kind of beauty inflames the heart and enchants the soul.” Apparently, Lupita is also a poet.

__________________________________________________

2) How Do YOU Define Yourself by Lizzie Velasquez at TedXAustinWomen (video)

There are benefits to being really small.

Lizzie is one of only three people in the entire world with a rare syndrome that prevents her from gaining weight. She’s 25 years old, can only see in one eye, and has never weighed more than 64 pounds. She was cruelly bullied as a child, with people telling her that the world would be better off with out her in it. Her story is nothing short of stunning. Lizzie is living her dream as a motivational speaker.

I watched this clip with my 13 year old, who feels like she looks like she’s still in 4th grade, who was recently diagnosed with a degenerative bone condition that means the end of her 10 years of competitive gymnastics. No more pounding on the elbows, ever. For a little feisty kid known as Jumping Josie, it’s a unexpected life challenge. Listening to Lizzie was inspiring.

What defines you?

__________________________________________________

3) The Mask You Live In (trailer) by Jennifer Siebel Newsom

As a society, how are we failing our boys?

My girls watched Miss Representation when the film on girls and women was released. It is part of our DVD library. The film “exposes how mainstream media contribute to the under-representation of women in positions of power and influence in America.”

While empowerment movements abound for girls, however, they seem virtually non-existent for boys. It’s time we pay attention to our boys. I look forward to the film on boys and men. Recently, the trailer when viral. The message is urgent and clear. We can’t empower our girls without doing the same for our boys.

From the website: “Compared to girls, research shows that boys in the U.S. are more likely to be diagnosed with a behavior disorder, prescribed stimulant medications, fail out of school, binge drink, commit a violent crime, and/or take their own lives. The Mask You Live In asks: As a society, how are we failing our boys?”

__________________________________________________

4) Selfie, a short film by Dove

What if…your moms can redefine beauty just like you can?

Selfie Screen Shot - A Dove Film — Selfie – A Dove Film

One of the most common anxieties I hear from mothers , who seek me out about how to connect with their girls, centers around what’s happening in social media, cell phones and texting. They are frustrated with how self-absorbed girls seem to be. But social media and smart phones can also be a creative outlet and allow girls to show their real selves.

Taking a selfie is not the worst thing that can happen, remarks a girl in the film. Is the world going to combust into a million little pieces because I put a selfie out there?

The recent film by DOVE helps to open a conversation about beauty, body acceptance, and modern self-portraits. It revolves around a photography workshop with high school girls and their moms. The photographer asks the girls: “What if we figure out a way – when taking a selfie – to actually incorporate the things about us we don’t like?”

She also notes that moms often pass on their insecurities about their body or appearance to their children. “What if you work with your moms, who are also learning how to take selfies? Your moms can redefine beauty just like you can.” My favorite part was when girl in the film remarks on the self-portraits the other girls made.

I was surprised when I heard the girls talking about their insecurities. When they said they were insecure about things, those were things that made them different… but the things that made them different, made them unique. And that made them beautiful.

__________________________________________________

5) The Sexy Lie: Caroline Heldman’s talk at TEDxYouth@SanDiego

A sexy lie = being a sex object is empowering (It’s totally not)

Warning Label: To watch this with your teen, you need to deal with the word sex.

Dr. Caroline Heldman is Chair of the Politics Department of Occidential College in Los Angeles. She is a vocal advocate for highlighting how mainstream media contributes to the underrepresentation of women in positions of power and influence in America.

I love this talk about sexual objectification and “the sex object test” for media literacy. I also appreciate how Caroline Heldman points out how women fail to enjoy their bodies when they continue view themselves as actors in a scene. We are always starring in our mind movies at the expense of being fully in our bodies.

If we accept the statistics that 70% of high schoolers have sex by the age of 17 (this is for you deniers out there) it’s time to be forthcoming about bodies, sex, respect for self and others, and being fully connected to our physical bodies.

This is in-your-face straight talk. It’s easier for Caroline Heldman to say it to your teen daughter than you.

2014 Winter Olympics was all Mom Power

February 23, 2014 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

TD Ameritrade Ad 2014 Olypmics Celski — TD Ameritrade Ad 2014 Olympics – Celski

Behind every big moment, there are lots of small ones.

Pick them back up.

Where are the tissues?!

As the 2014 Winter Olympics have come and gone, what I come away with is not so much the medals won, but the stories of the athletes’ moms. Mothers took center stage at this 2014 Winter Olympics. Yes, indeed, moms showed up in the personal stories and in the Proctor & Gamble and TD Ameritrade sponsored ads. These were welcomed all around. Of course, I’m a mom of athletic teenagers so I’m smack in the center of target market. Just go ahead and pull on my heartstrings.

I never really got tired of the odes to moms or childhood footage of the athletes, as I did all the other repetitive ads. And we had plenty of exposure since it was school winter vacation week. But the appreciation of moms was important in one major way. It offered a counter culture message on motherhood. I’m not sure if you have noticed that in our recent past—oh let’s just say the past decade—moms have been portrayed as vacant, self-absorbed vixens trying to reclaim a youthful past through cutthroat housewife vanity or vicariously experiencing life through the talents or looks of their daughters. Or alternatively, moms are characterized as the classic, ditzy but well-intentioned stay-at-home mom that was once so well done by the inventive Lucille Ball in “I Love Lucy.” Sadly, the cultural portrayal of mothers is now imbued with a sense of cluelessness and disconnection when it comes female identity and raising children.

Think of the moms in the teen cult classic, Mean Girls (2004), Marge Simpson, or any mother in portrayed reality TV shows, like Dance Moms or Toddlers & Tiaras, or shows like Say Yes To The Dress, that bank on the emotional drama between mothers, daughters, sisters and girlfriends. Or consider Modern Family’s Clair played by Julie Bowen, who is perhaps the current version of Lucille Ball. I admit that Modern Family can endlessly entertain my own family.

Overall, it’s not pretty for moms. It’s actually disparaging in covert and overt ways. I’m sure there may be consumer research on motherhood personas but that’s not my field. My fantasy is that the ad agency for P&G had a good number of focus groups that showed what moms desire is respect and appreciation for the hard work it takes to raise a child, not just a super athlete. Moms don’t want to be rock star moms, they just want the light to shine on the love and dedication to their children. Yes, give them that break, please.

P&G had great success with the Thank You, Mom campaign in the Summer 2012 Olympics. It was a tearjerker. This year’s Pick Them Back Up was a good sequel. Maybe next time P&G will focus on Dads (who seriously need a whole new makeover in our culture and media), but this is unlikely since dads don’t typically buy the household goods or cut out coupons from the Sunday paper.

TD Ameritrade campaign slogan was: “Behind every big moment, there are lots of small ones.” Matt Damon is the voice behind it. The intent was to make a connection between the long-term commitment it takes to be an athlete and financial investment. The ad agency for TD Ameritrade collected childhood videos from various Olympic competitors (#itaddsup). For me it blended in the P&G campaign about moms. You could hear moms’ cheering voices behind the camera. See ads with snowboader, Louie Vito, speed skater JR Celski or skeleton racer an mom, Noelle Pikus Pace.

It was brilliant, if unintended.

I don’t want to have to wait another two years to see accolades on parenting. The media, for better or worse, has the funds and the means to send influential messages to millions of people, who are largely addicted to screens. Wouldn’t it be great if they could turn the success of such advertising campaigns in to a true social mission to empower parents – moms and dads – as effective agents and loving influencers in their children’s lives?

What a world it could be.

An Unusual Valentine from My Daughter

February 14, 2014 by Tara Cousineau Leave a Comment

VDAY, Portsmouth, NH

Of all the shocking and disturbing scenes The Vagina Monologues may bring up, it was one quote that really got to me over this past weekend. In the scheme of things it was rather benign compared to the play’s discourse on women, body parts, vagina workshops, rape, and gender violence.

One of the actors stood up in the audience—a spot light in a sea of darkness—and reported a statistic:

More than half of high school girls cannot name three adults they would confide in.

That hit me. A loud rumble started to drown out the play—the sound of fear roared though my mind.

I took a deep breath. I started to feel clammy—a bit sick to my stomach, actually. I have two daughters. Horrible images ran across my mind.

I began to scan my crazy mama brain. Who would they reach out to?

Me? That would be sweet, but daughters don’t confide their most troublesome experiences or worries to their mothers. Trust me. Those of you who proclaim, “My daughter tells me everything. We’re really close.” … well, that’s just BS. I know. I have teen clients and I hear things they would never, ever tell their moms.

So I immediately took myself out of the running.

Really, to whom would Josie and Sophie reach out? Another mom? One of their four aunts? Umm, well, maybe….

Ehhh. But no, probably not. Too far away.

It was a conversation I had in my head for the next three days.

If you don’t know about The Vagina Monologues, or have heard about it and immediately judge it as something you’d never see, consider it. Stretch yourself.

The Vagina Monologues gets performed around the country around Valentine’s Day—at local community theaters or college campuses. The movement is called VDAY. The proceeds go to a local organization that supports women’s health, domestic violence shelters, rape prevention services, and so on. In this case, the proceeds went to SASS, Sexual Assault Support Services, NH.

The play is hilarious, gut wrenching, and heart throbbing all at once. It is a full body experience. It’s based on real stories. It will awaken your mind before you shut it down again—after you digest the sheer, disturbing reality of the constancy of violence against girls and women. It is too hard to bear.

The play is based on the Eve Ensler’s interviews with over 200 women. She began some causal research on the subject with friends and then it became a mission of sorts.

I WAS WORRIED ABOUT VAGINAS.

I WAS WORRIED WHAT WE THINK ABOUT VAGINAS

AND I WAS EVEN MORE WORRIED

THAT WE DON’T THINK ABOUT THEM.

I WAS WORRIED ABOUT MY OWN VAGINA.

IT NEEDED A CONTEXT, A COMMUNITY,

A CULTURE OF OTHER VAGINAS.

THERE IS SO MUCH DARKNESS AND SECRECY SURROUNDING THEM,

LIKE THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE.

You get the idea. A friend, the amazing Kiva Leatherman, performed one of monologues this past weekend at the Seacoast Repertory Theater in Portsmouth, NH. It was the 9^th year of VDAY in that small city. It was fantastic. She was amazing. All the actors were. After it was over a bunch of us met her to celebrate. I was floored again when she pointed out that a mother and daughter had monologues in the play. The mom’s part was demonstrating the various sounds of a female orgasm (ala When Harry Met Sally). Yes, indeed. She was rather convincing. Her 15-year-old daughter had a part on the power of a miniskirt. Impressive.

Yes, I know we New Englanders are quite liberal and a play like The Vagina Monologues is par for the course. I confess that I did ask myself during the performance: At what ages would I bring my girls to see this? They are 13 and 16. I suppose they would not be too surprised if I took them to see a show like this. They’ve both been through comprehensive Sex Ed, a program called Our Whole Lives. But The Vagina Monologues is raw in a different way.

I was thinking… oh, it might be too much.

I couldn’t take the rumbling in my brain, though. After 3 days mulling over the nagging statistic, I shared my experience at the play. I asked both of my daughters to think about who they could reach to out in a crisis. Any crisis – drinking, sex, stress, bad grades, deep sadness, whatever. What supportive, trusting grownups would they talk to?

My younger one, bless her soul, dutifully exclaimed: “You and Dad!” I said, “That’s nice. Who else? Let’s expand your circle.” We thought aloud for a while and the conversation eventually led to other things.

The next day my older daughter, in a rare moment of chattiness, informed me that earlier in the school day she talked to a favorite teacher about classes, college … “oh just life.” Sophie decided, apparently, as the conversation rolled along that Ms. B was one person she could reach out to. So she asked (asked!) Ms.B if she’d be OK with that. Ms. B agreed.

After Sophie swooped out of the room, I just sat there. For a while.

It was a moment of curiosity. Of gratitude.

She listened. She got it.

I think that’s the best V-Day gift, ever.

* * *

Learn about Eve Ensler, The Vagina Monologues and V-Day.

Eve Ensler’s 2011 Ted Talk

SASS-NH Education Programs: Safe Kids-Strong Teens