I made my Mother cry this week. It wasn’t malicious. I didn’t yell at her, curse at her or say anything cutting at her. I actually confessed to her about a lot of demons I have kept locked up inside for years.
See, I feel like my current situation started long before I got here. I feel like a lot of my body dysmorphia issues started young. I grew up hearing my mom constantly call herself a fat ass. Saying things like she wasn’t worth it because she was fat, she couldn’t go out in public because she was an embarrassment. She would tell us to never get fat. Sometimes she was laugh while she would beat herself down, but a lot of times it was just so bitter. It rubbed off on me. I don’t blame her, but her actions are mirrored in my own.
A lot of times I think people are judging me out in public, when honestly they probably don’t care about me at all. I will tell Patrick “I can’t sit on your lap, I am going to crush you because of my fat ass.” or “We can’t have a porch swing, I will break it because I am so fat.” or “I love swimming but I can’t wear a swimsuit, I will look like a whale.” . I will look in the mirror and tell myself I will be beautiful if I just lose the weight.
This is a very big issue and I am well aware of it. There is no way I will lose the weight and just accept I am beautiful. I have been hard on myself for so long, that I will need a serious attitude adjustment before I will like my reflection. It is difficult though.
I struggled with being chubby when I was younger. Around ten I started getting a tummy. My breasts came in, giant and it made me feel even bigger. I hated my reflection. What didn’t help was my sister constantly calling me fat, making fun of me because of my weight, telling me I had no friends because of it. It didn’t help that my father would tell me as I cried “Plump, if you just lost the weight, you would be the most beautiful girl in our family.” As if that was a compliment. It didn’t help that as I was slowly being convinced about how fat I was (which I look at pictures and I just wasn’t), that my mom constantly cut herself down because of her weight. If she was worthless fat, than so was I, right?
I gained more weight as I grew up. It wasn’t hard. My family didn’t really teach us healthy habits. My mom and I would go to the grocery store and take a snack break at McDonalds. The snack? The large cup of fries (no, not the large order. The CUP, you know, the large cup they sell for drinks? They used to sell a cup of fries.) . We went out to eat once a week to a mexican food place. We snacked on junk food like homemade popcorn, mac and cheese and all sorts of unhealthy food. My sister never gained weight, I gained plenty. When I could drive, it got worse. I had access to fast food.
I don’t blame my parents for my weight gain, but I do recognize that I wont be raising my children the same way.
I confessed a lot to my mom this week. When I admitted to her how I treat myself, she broke down sobbing. She apologized, saying she never wanted me to do to myself, what she does to herself. I insisted it wasn’t her fault, but I began to cry. I hate crying. I especially hate crying in front of people. I would rather be the comforter than the comfortee, but we ended up crying in each other’s arms.
One thing I really , really want to be clear (obviously, as I have repeated it several times now). I don’t blame anyone for where I am. I have made my choices. I could have stopped a long time ago, I could have fixed this years back. I have had the freedom and choice since I was young. I didn’t have people shoving bad food down my throat. I chose the unhealthy route. I chose bad food. I chose being heavy. I have to fix the damage my choices have made.
My mother and I have had a tense relationship in the past that has only gotten better since I have moved out. It never had to do with weight, but this seems to have brought us a bit closer. If that is the only silver-lining in this, I will take it. She is an amazing woman.