My mother’s youthful spirit seems trapped in the body of an almost 80-year-old. On sunny afternoons, she can be found twirling around her living room, blasting ABBA far too loud for our neighbors’ comfort. With dreams of globe-trotting, reading every book under the sun, and maybe even mastering another language, her greatest fixation remains her appearance.
Despite being nearly a nonagenarian, my mother possesses a mindset that feels as fresh and vibrant as a teenager’s. Yet, her body tells a different tale. I often compare her to my husband’s mother, who, though not much younger, engages in lively debates about politics and sports. Another friend’s mother is busy with road trips and cruises, as if she’s on a quest for self-discovery. In contrast, my mom struggles with simple tasks—losing keys, money, or even her car—sometimes forgetting her own address.
What she never forgets, however, is her idea of the perfect weight. It’s a subject that comes up in nearly every conversation. “I’m on a diet now,” she’ll say, proudly recounting how she had a single slice of cheese or a few lettuce leaves for lunch.
For as long as I can remember, dieting has been her constant companion. She might shed a couple of pounds, but then she’ll remember just how much she loves pie, cake, and bread, proclaiming, “To hell with it; I’m too old for this,” as she serves herself seconds. And the very next day, she’s back on the diet train, proclaiming her healthy habits while also mentioning her latest mishaps on her bike, often ending up with bruises that stick around for weeks.
Living thousands of miles away, I don’t get to see her often, but during our reunions, I know to prepare for the inevitable judgment when we finally lock eyes after some time apart. “You look great,” she’ll say on a good day. On others, I hear, “Oh, you’re looking a bit sloppy,” to which my dad will chime in, reminding her I’m on a road trip and should prioritize comfort.
She doesn’t realize how she speaks to me sometimes. On the phone, she laments how much she misses me and how enjoyable our time together can be. However, it often leaves me feeling frustrated. I worry about her fixation on achieving a Marilyn Monroe figure, even as she approaches the twilight of her years. I find myself questioning when I’ll stop measuring my self-worth in clothing sizes or when I’ll cease to dwell on my younger, slimmer self. Am I just repeating my mother’s patterns? Will I always aim to shed a few extra pounds without ever making a genuine effort?
The topic of weight is heavy, and yet, in the grand scheme, it holds little significance. I don’t want to be remembered for the numbers on a scale or for how my weight fluctuated over the years. It’s apparent that this issue weighs heavily on my mother’s mind, and I’m not quite sure what to think about it. Some days, I offer her support, saying, “You’ve got this, Mom!” Other days, I want to shout, “Who cares! Enjoy the cake! You’ve earned it!”
She truly has. My mother has navigated life’s challenges—health issues, family drama, and the chaos of raising three spirited kids—all while juggling bills and lending a helping hand to others. She absolutely deserves a slice of cake, with all the frosting. She deserves to feel good about herself.
Like a typical teenager, she won’t absorb this encouragement. But I do. I hear the things I wish I could communicate to her, and I remind myself that a piece of cake doesn’t diminish my worth. I tell myself that size labels don’t define who I am, but rather, what matters are the memories I create—both from the past and those I continue to forge today. Life is about living fully and dancing like no one’s watching, even if the music is too loud for the neighbors.
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In summary, this exploration of my mother’s relationship with weight mirrors my own struggles and fears. While I grapple with societal expectations, I strive to focus on creating joyful memories and embracing experiences that truly matter.