Me, My Mom, and the Battle We Face with Our Weight

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My mom’s teenage spirit seems to clash with her senior citizen body. On sunny afternoons, she can be found dancing alone in the living room, blasting ABBA loud enough for the neighbors to hear. She dreams of traveling the globe, devouring books, and even picking up a new language or two. But her main focus? Her appearance.

In many ways, my almost 80-year-old mother is still very much a teenager at heart. Yet her body tells a different story. I often find myself comparing her to my husband’s mom, who, despite being around the same age, has a sharp mind and can effortlessly chat about politics, sports, and local events. Then there’s my friend’s mother, who’s living her best life, working full-time and embarking on road trips and cruises as if she’s constantly searching for her next adventure. My mom, on the other hand, has a notoriously short attention span. She misplaces just about everything: keys, money, jewelry—even her own car. Sometimes, she even forgets her own address.

What she does remember is her “ideal” weight. Not a single call goes by without her bringing up the latest diet she’s trying, or how she had a mere sliver of cheese for lunch. For as long as I can recall, my mom has been on a diet. She might shed a couple of pounds, but then she remembers how much she loves pie, cake, and all the carbs, and she’ll exclaim, “Forget it! I’m too old for this,” as she serves herself seconds. The following day, she’s back to her dieting chatter, boasting about how health-conscious she is, all while she’s nursing bruises from falling off her bike.

With the distance between us making regular visits a rarity, I’ve learned to expect a quick appraisal when we finally reunite. “You look fantastic!” she’ll say, on a good day, but more often I hear, “Oh dear, you look so messy,” to which my dad chimes in, reminding her that I’m just on a road trip and need to be comfortable.

She doesn’t realize—nor does she remember—that she talks to me this way. Over the phone, she laments how much she misses me and how enjoyable our time together can be. It is enjoyable, but it’s also a bit disheartening. I can’t help but worry about how my mom perceives herself, longing for a Marilyn Monroe figure, even at her age. At what point do women genuinely say, “Enough is enough”? As I approach my mid-40s, I find myself pondering the same question.

I often wonder when I’ll stop fixating on clothing sizes. When will I stop comparing my current self to my younger self? Am I falling into the same patterns as my mom? Will I forever chase those extra pounds but never truly commit to changing my habits?

Weight is a heavy topic, yet in the grand scheme of things, it means little. I don’t want to be remembered for my weight, or whether my teenage self weighed less than my older self. It seems to matter immensely to my mom, and I’m unsure how to process that. Some days, I cheer her on, saying, “You can do this, Mom,” while other days, I want to scream, “Who cares! Enjoy your food! You’ve earned it.”

And she has. My mom has worked tirelessly throughout her life, facing illnesses, family disputes, and raising three unruly kids. She’s paid bills, helped us out when we needed it, and driven elderly folks to the store and church, often without a dime for gas. She absolutely deserves a slice of cake with extra frosting. She deserves to hold herself in high regard.

Just like a teenager, no amount of reassurance will make a difference if she doesn’t hear it. But I hear those encouraging words, and I remind myself of the same. A piece of cake won’t diminish my worth. It doesn’t matter what the label says, because my life’s value isn’t measured by inches. It’s about the memories—both past and present. Life is about savoring experiences and dancing like no one’s watching.

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In summary, my mom and I share a complex relationship with weight, grappling with the expectations of our bodies and how we perceive ourselves. While she struggles with her self-image, I find myself questioning the same notions. Ultimately, life is about experiences, not numbers on a scale.