Growing up, my mother was perpetually on a diet. The ’70s and ’80s are a faded memory filled with her endless consumption of cottage cheese, hot lemon water, and weeks-long grapefruit-only phases. She munched on dense rye crackers that could have been mistaken for cardboard. There was no joy in her eating, only the constant disappointment of stubborn weight that clung to her. She lamented about ruining her metabolism back in the ’60s, as if it were a pair of pants that, once stretched, could never return to form.
Unlike my mother, who was obsessed with her own calorie intake, I never faced direct criticism about my weight from her. However, comments from an aunt about my eating habits and my father’s remarks during occasional visits to ice cream parlors left their mark. I often wondered what he expected me to do—skip the hot fudge sundae?
Like many girls, I absorbed the unspoken messages about body image from my mother and others. From a young age, we learned that our bodies were subject to scrutiny, and that it was essential to detach our identities from our physical appearance. This led to a tumultuous relationship with food, where I would yo-yo between unhealthy extremes from ages 14 to 20. My mother’s struggles became a misguided template for my own. I fluctuated between a too-skinny 105 pounds and a too-heavy (for me) 155 pounds, with no discussions about balance, exercise, or health. In our household, food was either a source of painful restriction or indulgent excess.
Everything changed when I began to pay attention to my body’s natural signals—hunger, thirst, cravings, fatigue, and, most importantly, feelings of fullness. Finally, my weight stabilized between 120 and 125 pounds for over 25 years. I learned to enjoy everything in moderation, from bread to dessert to the occasional drink. I’ve never followed a diet as an adult, nor have I ever introduced that concept to my two daughters. Instead, we speak of our bodies in terms of strength and achievements, not size.
I strive to model a healthy relationship with food for my children. I’m no culinary expert—my husband would attest to that—but we make breakfast a priority, even if it’s just a quick bowl of cereal. They drink water and nonfat milk, having never tasted soda. Snacks are wholesome—apple slices or toast—while lunches consist of lean meats, cheese, and veggies. Dinner features nutritious options like chicken or fish with a side of vegetables and a salad, followed by dessert every night. We enjoy these moments together, and they eat until satisfied, with no late-night snacking.
My children don’t struggle with weight issues. And even if they did, I would approach the conversation from a perspective of health rather than weight. We focus on physical activities like walking to school or biking on weekends, emphasizing fitness over appearance.
I hold no grudges against my mother for her struggles; she grew up in a time before the wealth of information we have today. She reflected the negative societal messages of her time, never intending to harm me or my sisters. While I can’t control the barrage of media images my daughters encounter daily, I can ensure that food is never a source of conflict in our home.
For more insights into nurturing a healthy relationship with food, check out this blog post on breaking the food cycle. And if you’re considering at-home insemination, BabyMaker’s syringe kits are a reputable option. You can also find valuable information about fertility and pregnancy at the CDC’s resource page.
In summary, by shifting the focus from appearance to health and wellness, I broke the cycle of food-related anxiety and instilled a positive outlook in my children.
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