Updated: December 2, 2016
Originally Published: May 22, 2015
Growing up, my mother was perpetually on a diet. The ’70s and ’80s were filled with her endless obsession with cottage cheese, hot lemon water, and pink grapefruit—just pink grapefruit for entire weeks. She munched on hard rye crackers that were as appealing as cardboard, if they even tasted any better. Despite her efforts, she always felt defeated when the weight clung to her like stubborn burrs that wouldn’t let go. She often lamented about how she had ruined her metabolism back in the ’60s, almost as if it were a pair of pants that had lost its stretch.
Unlike my friend Sarah, whose controlling mom monitored every bite she took and led her into lifelong struggles with weight, my mother was focused solely on her own calorie intake. While she never called me overweight, a well-meaning aunt warned me against devouring that third slice of pizza if I didn’t want to end up looking like my mom. My dad, during his rare outings with us, would mutter similar comments while we enjoyed sundaes at the ice cream parlor. I often wondered what he expected me to do—pass on the hot fudge sundae? Why not take us mini-golfing instead?
Like many girls, I absorbed the messages about body image from my mother and others around me, often silently. From a young age, we learned that our bodies weren’t entirely ours to appreciate. It felt acceptable for others to comment on our figures, to evaluate our shapes with the same clinical detachment as a butcher assessing a cut of meat.
The outcome for me was a chaotic cycle of weight fluctuations between the ages of 14 and 20. Using my mother’s struggles as a benchmark, I was lost when it came to understanding how to eat. I hadn’t learned to cultivate a healthy relationship with food. My naturally petite frame, at 5-foot-5-inches, oscillated between an uncomfortably thin 105 pounds and a weight of 155 pounds. Discussions about balance, exercise, or health were non-existent in my childhood home, where food was either completely off-limits or excessively indulged.
It wasn’t until I began heeding my own body’s signals—hunger pangs, genuine thirst, cravings for specific nutrients, and the blissful feeling of being full—that my weight finally stabilized. Now, it hovers between 120 and 125 pounds, a range I’ve maintained for over 25 years. I enjoy everything I love to eat in moderation—yes, that includes bread, dessert, and even a glass of wine. I have never followed a diet as an adult, nor have I ever mentioned the word “diet” to my two daughters, who are both school-aged. When we talk about our bodies, we celebrate achievements and strength instead of focusing on size.
I strive to set a positive example for my daughters, hoping they’ll adopt a healthy perspective towards food as they grow. I’m not a gourmet chef—my husband can vouch for that—but our mornings always begin with a breakfast, even if it’s just a bowl of cereal. They hydrate with water and nonfat milk, and neither has ever tasted soda. Their mid-morning snacks consist of apple slices or toast. Lunchtime is around noon, typically featuring sandwiches with lean meats and vegetables. In the afternoon, they might enjoy Goldfish crackers or cheese sticks. Dinner is served promptly at 6 p.m., usually a warm chicken or fish dish accompanied by steamed veggies, a salad, and perhaps a crusty roll. Dessert is a nightly ritual, something we all share, be it cookies or a scoop of ice cream—it’s never off-limits.
After dinner, we respect our bodies by stopping eating. The kitchen closes, and we don’t snack in the evenings because we feel satisfied. My daughters don’t struggle with their weight. And even if they did, I wouldn’t frame our conversations around weight. Instead, I would emphasize the importance of good health and propose fun activities—like walking to school or biking on weekends.
I don’t hold my mother responsible for the unhealthy patterns she modeled. She grew up in a time before the surge of information we have today, with no access to platforms like Oprah or WebMD to guide her. She too internalized the negative societal messages and, although unintentional, relayed those struggles to me and my sisters. It pains me to think she worries we’ve inherited her food issues.
While I cannot control the constant barrage of media images my daughters encounter, from the unrealistic ideals of models to social media trends, I can prevent them from developing food-related anxieties by treating food as a non-issue. By fostering a healthy relationship with food, I hope to break this cycle for good.
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Summary
In this article, Clara Johnson reflects on her journey to breaking free from a detrimental food cycle influenced by her mother’s dieting habits. By listening to her body and fostering a healthy relationship with food, she now enjoys a balanced life and teaches her daughters about nutrition without focusing on weight. Clara emphasizes the importance of setting a positive example and creating an environment where food is not a source of anxiety.