My mother, despite nearing 80, possesses a youthful spirit that seems at odds with her aging body. On sunny afternoons, she can be found dancing alone in the living room, ABBA blasting so loudly that the neighbors surely hear it. She dreams of traveling the globe, immersing herself in literature, and perhaps even mastering a new language. Yet, above all, her preoccupation lies with her appearance.
In many respects, my mother remains a teenager at heart, even if her body tells a different story. I often reflect on the aging process. My husband’s mother, who is only a few years younger, maintains a sharp mind, engaging in discussions about everything from politics to local history. A friend’s mother is still working full-time in her golden years, taking road trips and cruises as if she’s on a quest for self-discovery. But my mother has a fleeting attention span—misplacing her keys, money, jewelry, and occasionally, even her car.
What she holds onto is her ideal weight. Not a conversation passes without her mentioning her latest diet, sharing how she had a minuscule lunch of cheese or a single lettuce leaf.
For as long as I can remember—decades, in fact—my mother has been on some form of diet. She may shed two or five pounds, but then she’s reminded of her love for pie and cake. “To hell with it; I’m too old for this,” she declares, helping herself to seconds. Yet, the very next day, she’s back on her diet, and during our calls, she’ll enthusiastically recount her healthy eating habits and love for dancing and biking, despite frequently falling off her bike and bruising herself.
Living thousands of miles away means our reunions are infrequent, but I know what to expect when we finally see each other again. “You look fantastic!” she’ll exclaim on a good day, but more often, I hear, “Oh, you’re dressed so casually,” to which my father will chime in about my road trip attire requiring comfort.
She seems oblivious to how she communicates with me. On the phone, she laments how much she misses me and how enjoyable our time together is—though it can be a mixed bag. I can’t help but worry about her obsession with maintaining a figure reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, regardless of her age. At what point do women truly let go of such expectations? As I approach my mid-40s, I ponder this for myself.
I find myself questioning when I’ll stop measuring my worth by clothing sizes. When will I let go of the notion that my younger self weighed less? Am I simply following in my mother’s footsteps, hoping to shed those extra pounds without genuine effort? Weight is a substantial topic, yet it ultimately holds little significance. I don’t wish to be remembered by others for my weight or whether I weighed less as a teenager. However, it seems to loom large for my mother, and I’m unsure how to address that. Sometimes I offer her encouragement, saying “You can do it, Mom,” while on other days, I want to shout, “Who cares? Enjoy what you love; you’ve earned it!”
She truly has. My mother has worked tirelessly throughout her life, enduring sickness, family challenges, and raising three spirited children. She managed bills, provided support when needed, and even drove elderly neighbors to the store without worrying about gas money. She deserves that piece of cake, with all the frosting. She deserves to appreciate herself more.
Like a typical teenager, she won’t absorb my words of encouragement. But I hear the things I wish I could convey to her, and I take them to heart. I remind myself that indulging in a treat doesn’t diminish my worth. I tell myself that what matters isn’t the size on a label but the memories I create—both those from the past and those I continue to forge today. Life is meant for experiences, including dancing to music loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
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Summary:
This reflection explores the complex relationship between a daughter and her mother regarding body image and weight struggles. While the mother embodies a youthful spirit, she grapples with societal expectations of beauty and a lifelong battle with dieting. The daughter contemplates her own perspectives on weight and self-worth, recognizing that life should be measured by experiences rather than numbers on a scale.