Throw Back Thursday: The Power of Naming

From the BB: 

So as we’ve fully established in this blog—as has anyone who survived adolescence—high school can be really awesome and really sucky simultaneously. I don’t want to re-tread old territory and talk about how terrible bullying is—we all know that. What I want to do is discuss bullying through another lens: the power of naming.

When I say naming, I do mean calling someone a name, but also more than that. If you call someone a name, categorize someone under a certain label, or refer to a person, group, or idea as something long enough, it becomes more than teasing, bullying, or a malicious joke. It becomes something tangible to the person being named—it becomes part of his or her identity.

For example, flashback to my high school gym class. We know where this is going: locker room embarrassment, me changing in the bathroom stall so no one would see my GUT, all the usual menstrual shame/anxiety (because god forbid we actually TALK about it), and of course the petty jealousies and girls telling me I only had boobs because I was fat, etc. P.E. was awful because of the expectations, the constant need to compare myself to other girls, and the humiliation when I had to wear the exact same uniform as everyone else but look totally different in it. (Seriously, those uniforms are made for one type of body and mine is NOT it). As though this wasn’t enough, I became a victim of naming by two other fat girls—where’s the solidarity?!

So for reasons mentioned above, and because I was sixteen, and because I was painfully shy and self-conscious, I wore a hooded sweatshirt in P.E. everyday. Typically, it was a green one with EIU on it because even then I planned to attend that university. I felt more secure with a pouch and some bagginess around my GUT, so that when I ran I didn’t feel like my roll was as noticeably bouncy. This strategy worked out pretty well for awhile, until I became aware of a nickname given to me by an upperclass fatty that liked to make fun of me: the frog.

This may not seem clever, but the sweatshirt was green, and my real last name is a slant rhyme on “ribbit.”

Even with the slightly clever (though I think I could do better now) word play, it wasn’t so much the initial nickname that offended me, but what it meant and what it turned into. Naming me as a frog, a humorous animal with a big gaping mouth, gross skin, a big, thick neck area, and weird paunches indicated that I was less-than in my hoodie. Less-than the girl who felt she could make fun of me, less-than worthy of respect, less-than in general. That bully’s naming turned my sweatshirt from a piece of armor to a source of humiliation, compounding my already-ever-present-body-humiliation even more. That act of naming made me even more self-conscious about my clothing choices and how they looked on my body—could people tell I was trying to cover up? Did people have other nicknames for all of my outfit choices?  

For a woman in her teenage years, ripping away that (yes, unhealthy, but perhaps necessary) security blanket is one of the cruelest things a bully can do. Calling me a name wasn’t just name-calling. It was an act of naming that permeated my identity, both in terms of how I saw myself and how others saw me. The name became who I was—someone who felt less-than, felt unworthy, and felt she had to cover up her body but now could not even do THAT with confidence.

Would some people say “well that’s sad, but it was like six years ago, so get over it” if they read this entry? Maybe. But they would be wrong. This experience, and my reflections on it as someone coming to love their own body, are extremely important in my journey—and maybe yours—to body acceptance. It shows just how hurtful words are, and reinforces the fact that name-calling is NOT just joking around. More importantly, it shows the power of naming. And if that power could be used for positivity, rather than negativity, just how potent could it be?

The WW named herself as beautiful so that she would begin to believe it. This type of positive naming is part of the process that made this blog possible, that makes body acceptance possible, and that can help and inspire others. As long as the naming is positive, and on your own terms, the effects can be quite helpful. (#speakitbeit--just making sure what you are speaking is positive, truthful, and what you want to be). 

I reject the cruel nickname I was given in high school—it is not a part of my identity, self-concept, or body image. Instead, I embrace self-affirmation and acts of naming that actually describe me or change my self-definition for the better. It is difficult to eschew the names that others give us, but I strongly believe in the #makeyourownmirror concept.