There’s one word that’s completely off-limits in our house.

Everyone knows it—my husband, my daughters—it’s the one word guaranteed to stop me in my tracks or send me into a full-on mom meltdown.

No, not that F word.
The other one: “Fat.”

We don’t say it in passing. We don’t use it as a joke. Not even casually.
In our home, it’s simply not a part of our vocabulary.

Not because it’s vulgar. Not because it’s crude. But because I’ve seen firsthand the damage that little three-letter word can do.

When used carelessly, it slips beneath the surface, embedding itself in the way we see ourselves.
It becomes a label. A burden. A belief.

And as a mom raising two daughters, I’ve made a lot of intentional choices.
But this one?
This one is deeply personal.

When the Mirror Became the Enemy:

I started struggling with food and body image as a teenager.

What began as a desire to “eat healthy” or “get in shape” slowly turned into disordered eating habits that quietly consumed me. I never labeled it an eating disorder back then, but that’s exactly what it was. And if I’m being honest, it followed me well into adulthood.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic.

It was subtle, persistent, and quietly devastating.

A silent obsession with calories, numbers, and control.

Looking back now, I realize part of the struggle began simply because I didn’t understand what was happening to me.

I didn’t understand the changes our bodies go through when we transition from little girls to young women. We become curvier—some of us more than others—and it’s hard to adjust the way we see ourselves in the mirror. One day we’re running around in soccer shorts without a second thought, and the next day, we’re wondering if our thighs look too big.

We start to feel big—without even knowing what that means or why we suddenly feel that way.

And because we are too young to understand it and no one actually talks about it, we don’t realize it’s biology. It’s growth. It’s the beautiful (and sometimes awkward) transition into womanhood.

But if no one says that out loud—if no one reassures us that this is normal—we start to believe the lie that our changing body is a problem to fix.

Rewriting the Story:

Healing didn’t happen overnight. Not for me.

In fact, for a long time, I didn’t even realize there was anything that needed healing.

My relationship with food, exercise, and my body felt normal—because it had always been that way.

It wasn’t until I walked into a CrossFit gym that everything started to shift.

The more I showed up and put in the work, the more I began to understand what strength really meant.

It wasn’t about shrinking.
It was about building—building muscle, building resilience, building a new kind of respect for my body.

I stopped chasing skinny and started chasing strong.

I stopped asking, “How do I look?”
And started asking, “How do I feel?”

But the healing wasn’t just for me.

It was for my girls.

Because now I know: the way we talk about our bodies becomes the way they learn to talk about theirs. They hear the words I speak over myself. They are listening to the comments I make about food. They are absorbing all of the offhand comments I make about clothes or calories.

So we made a family rule:

We don’t say the F word at our house.

What We Say Instead:

In our house, we don’t talk about being “fat” or “skinny.”

We don’t label foods as “good” or “bad.”

Instead, we focus on what our bodies can do.
We talk about the foods that fuel us—foods that give us energy, strength, and focus.

We celebrate legs that run, jump, and squat.
We notice growing muscles and improving skills.
We pay attention to how our bodies feel, not just how they look.

Because at the end of the day, I never want my girls to tie their worth to a number.
Not on a scale.
Not in a pair of jeans.
Not on a screen filtered beyond recognition.

I want them to know they are so much more than their appearance.

They are smart, strong, funny, creative, capable, and worthy—exactly as they are.

Because their bodies will change.
Over time. Again and again.

And that’s not something to fear.
It’s something to honor.

The Voice They Carry Inside:

The truth is, we can’t shield our daughters from everything the world will say about beauty, weight, and perfection.

But we can shape the voice they carry inside.

That quiet voice they hear when they look in the mirror?
It needs to be louder—and stronger—than the noise the world throws at them.

And that voice?
It starts with us.

It starts with how we speak about ourselves out loud.
The way we talk about food, fitness, clothing, mirrors—and those quiet moments of insecurity.

It’s in the small, daily choices.
The consistent, compassionate language.
The example we set—whether we realize they’re watching or not.

So if you grew up with the word “fat” hanging heavy in the air, maybe it’s time to release it.

If you’re still healing from the words spoken over you—mama, you’re not alone.

We’re healing together.
And we’re rewriting the narrative.

Let’s raise girls who know their currency is not their beauty.
And let’s become women who finally believe that truth for ourselves, too.

Rewriting the Narrative:

It’s time to start paying attention to the words we use about ourselves.

Ask yourself this: Would you want your daughter to speak to herself the way you speak to yourself?

Because our words are powerful.
They shape the way we see ourselves—and how others learn to see us, too.

They can build us up… or tear us down.

And whether we realize it or not, someone is always watching.
A little pair of eyes.
A little set of ears.
Soaking in every comment. Ready to imitate and echo what they see and hear.

So here’s a simple challenge:
What’s one word or phrase you’re ready to retire in your home?

Drop it in the comments below.
Let’s hold space for each other as we rewrite the narrative—one word, one moment, one choice at a time.

We’re in this together, mama.