Let me start by saying that my mom isn’t a harsh person. She loves me deeply, and I’ve always felt that love. She genuinely cares for my kids and strives to support our family. In this narrative, she’s not the antagonist; rather, she’s a woman shaped by societal expectations that often equate beauty with thinness.
In her sixties, my mother hasn’t quite embraced the body positivity movement that has emerged in recent years. She still reads traditional magazines and doesn’t use social media. She’s unaware of influential figures like Lizzo and has never experienced the joy of feeling “good as hell.”
Even if she were aware, I doubt she could shift her perspective. My mother has been plus-size for much of her life, and there were only brief moments when she wasn’t, often during extreme dieting. She takes pride in going to bed with hunger pangs, believing that enduring hunger is a testament to her willpower. For her, each bite is a moral dilemma, and she feels she fails if she doesn’t appear thin. She wakes up in a body that doesn’t conform to the conventional beauty standards, internalizing a sense of inadequacy.
In contrast, I have a body similar to hers, but I refuse to fight against it. I don’t equate my worth with my weight or size. I have a family to nurture, and I embrace my body as it is. My weight fluctuates with life’s circumstances, but I’ve found a sense of stability in my plus-size identity since reaching adulthood.
When my children rest their heads against my skin, I gaze at their cherubic faces and can’t imagine wanting them to change even a single cell of their being. This realization fills me with sorrow. My mother, who harbors deep-seated body image issues, struggles to understand my acceptance of myself.
Despite her efforts to conceal it, I sense her disappointment that her only daughter is fat. It’s a feeling I’ve carried for a long time, knowing her history of being criticized by her own mother for her body. My grandmother imposed restrictive diets on my mom from a young age, whereas she never subjected me to the same scrutiny, even though I resembled her younger self. Watching her mother dote on me must have been a painful reminder of her own struggles.
I understand that my mother’s issues with body image stem from a lifetime of trauma. It’s unrealistic for me to expect her to reconfigure her beliefs about beauty and worth. I recognize that her hurtful comments come from a place of love, even if they sting.
Recently, after several uncomplicated pregnancies, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, which I manage through diet. Ironically, this has led to some weight loss, which my mother interpreted as an opportunity for me to continue this restrictive eating pattern after the baby is born. During a recent phone call, she suggested I maintain this diet because it “clearly works for me.” When I asked her to elaborate, she awkwardly explained that it’s “healthy for my kind of body,” implying that it was about losing weight.
This was disheartening. I’m committed to managing my diabetes and ensuring my baby’s health, but I don’t want to equate that with a diet aimed at weight loss. Managing this condition is already a daunting task, and the thought of adhering to a strict regimen indefinitely feels confining. To my mother, however, it sounds ideal if it means I could be smaller.
It pains me to accept that she may never understand that self-love is an option. For over sixty years, she has believed that her value is tied to her size. If she allows herself to see beauty in something other than thinness, it would call into question all those years spent starving herself.
I often ponder why she didn’t savor the cake at my sixth birthday party or why she chose a plain chicken dish while we dined on exquisite pasta during a family trip. It’s as if she’s missed out on so much joy, believing that sacrifice was the path to virtue.
Despite the vibrant conversations around fat positivity online, I find it disheartening that my mother won’t accompany me on this journey toward acceptance. I wish she could experience the same liberation I have found in embracing my body. When she asked about continuing my diabetic diet post-baby, I chose not to confront her. Instead, I humorously requested a platter of cold cuts and cookies to be delivered to my hospital room after delivery.
She didn’t press further, perhaps understanding my perspective better now. I know she’ll bring those cookies and shower my baby with the same affection she has for me. If I mention my relief at eating freely once more, I can already picture her laughter.
But beneath the surface, there’s an undercurrent of pain. I won’t be laughing about this.
In summary, my relationship with my mother is complex, shaped by her historical struggles with body image and my own journey toward self-acceptance. The weight of her disappointment lingers, but I continue to seek joy and peace in my body as it is. It’s a path she may never walk with me, but I have found my own way.
For more insights on navigating fertility and pregnancy, check out this excellent resource on fertility treatment. You can also find further discussions on body positivity and acceptance in our other blog posts, like this one.