My mother’s youthful spirit remains trapped in the body of a nearly 80-year-old. On sunny afternoons, she dances alone in the living room, ABBA blaring loudly enough for the neighbors to hear. She dreams of traveling the world, immersing herself in countless books, and even picking up a new language someday. However, her main focus seems to be on her appearance.
In many ways, my mother embodies the essence of a teenager, even as her body reveals the truth of her age. I often reflect on the nature of aging. When I observe my mother-in-law, who is only slightly younger, I’m struck by her sharp intellect and ability to engage in discussions ranging from politics to local history. A friend’s mother continues to work full-time in her later years, embarking on road trips and cruises as if in search of a new purpose. In contrast, my mother’s attention span is fleeting; she frequently misplaces items like keys, money, and even her car—occasionally forgetting her own address.
What she never forgets is her ideal weight. Each phone call inevitably leads to her mentioning her latest diet attempt, excitedly recounting how she had a mere slice of cheese or a piece of lettuce for lunch.
For as long as I can recall, my mother has been on a perpetual diet. She may shed a couple of pounds, only to be reminded of her love for pie, cake, and bread, which leads her to declare, “To hell with it. I’m too old for this” as she serves herself another helping. The next day, she’s back on her dieting routine. During our conversations, she often boasts about her healthy eating habits and her passion for dancing and biking, despite the bruises she accumulates from frequent falls.
Living miles away from her, our infrequent visits come with predictable assessments. “You look great,” she’ll say on a good day, but more often than not, I hear, “Oh, you’re dressed so sloppily,” to which my father chimes in, reminding her that I’m on a road trip and should prioritize comfort.
She isn’t aware that she speaks to me this way. On the phone, she expresses how much she misses me and how enjoyable our time together can be. Yet, it is often disheartening. I can’t help but feel concerned about her fixation on achieving a Marilyn Monroe-like figure, even at her age. When do women finally say, “To hell with it” and genuinely mean it? As I approach my mid-40s, I find myself contemplating this.
I question when I will cease to measure my worth by clothing sizes. I wonder when I will stop reminiscing about my younger self, who weighed less. Am I simply mirroring my mother’s behavior? Will I always yearn to shed those extra pounds yet never fully commit?
Weight is a complex topic, yet it often holds little significance. I don’t want to be remembered for my weight or for comparing my teenage self to my older self. This seems to weigh heavily on my mother, leaving me uncertain about how to respond. On some days, I encourage her, saying, “You can do it, Mom,” while on others, I want to scream, “Who cares! Eat what you want. You’ve earned it.”
And she has. My mother has dedicated her life to raising three challenging children, managing household finances, and helping others, all while navigating her own hardships. She deserves a slice of cake—with extra frosting. She deserves to have a positive self-image.
Like a teenager, no amount of reassurance will penetrate her thoughts. She won’t absorb those affirmations. Yet, I hear the words I wish she would take to heart, and I remind myself that indulging in a piece of cake does not diminish my worth. I tell myself that my value isn’t defined by a clothing label; rather, it’s measured by the memories I create, both past and present. Life is about savoring experiences, like dancing alone to music that’s too loud for the neighbors.
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In summary, the struggles surrounding weight and self-image are deeply intertwined with our identities and familial relationships. As we navigate these challenges, it is crucial to focus on experiences and memories rather than mere numbers on a scale.