Me, My Mother, and Our Weight Struggles: A Reflection on Aging and Acceptance

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My mother, in her nearly 80 years, often feels like a teenager trapped in a senior’s body. On sunny afternoons, she dances around the living room, belting out ABBA tunes loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Her dreams of traveling the world, devouring books, and perhaps mastering another language are as vibrant as ever. Yet, her preoccupation with her appearance weighs heavily on her mind.

Although my mother is approaching her 80s, her spirit remains youthful, while her body tells a different story. I often think about how bodies age differently. My husband’s mom, who is not much younger, is sharp as a tack, engaging in conversations about politics, sports, and local lore. Meanwhile, a friend’s mother is still working full-time, embarking on adventures like road trips and cruises, seemingly on a quest for self-discovery. In contrast, my mom’s attention span is fleeting; she often misplaces her keys, money, and even her car. Sometimes, she forgets where she lives.

What she never forgets is the number on the scale. Our conversations frequently revolve around her latest diet, how she is determined to shed a few pounds, and how for lunch, she had a minuscule slice of cheese or a handful of lettuce.

For as long as I can recall, my mother has been in a perpetual cycle of dieting. She might lose a couple of pounds here and there, but then she remembers how much she adores pie, cake, and good old-fashioned bread with butter. “To hell with it; I’m too old for this,” she says, happily serving herself seconds. The very next day, she’s back on the weight-loss wagon and will assure me about her healthy eating habits and her love for dancing and biking—even if her biking adventures often leave her with bruises that linger for weeks.

Living thousands of miles away means I only get to see her occasionally, and I’ve come to expect a critique each time we reunite. “You look fabulous today!” she’ll say on a good day, but more often I hear, “Oh dear, you look so casual,” to which my father will remind her that I’m on a road trip and deserve to be comfortable.

What’s truly puzzling is that she doesn’t even realize she speaks to me this way. During our phone calls, she expresses how much she misses me and how enjoyable our time together is. And yes, it can be enjoyable, but it can also sting. I can’t help but feel a pang of concern over her desire for an idealized figure, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, even as she ages. When do women finally say, “Enough is enough” and genuinely mean it? As I move closer to my mid-40s, I find myself pondering the same questions.

When will I stop fixating on clothing sizes? When will I stop comparing myself to the younger version of me? Am I, too, falling into my mother’s patterns, wanting to lose those extra pounds without truly making an effort? Weight is a significant topic, yet it ultimately holds little relevance in the grand scheme of things. I don’t want my legacy to be defined by numbers on a scale or by how I measured up at different stages of life. Yet, it seems to consume my mother, and I’m unsure how to navigate that.

Some days, I offer gentle encouragement, saying, “You’ve got this, Mom!” Other days, I yearn to shout into the phone, “Who cares! Enjoy your cake; you’ve earned it!” And she truly has. My mother has dedicated her life to working hard, navigating sickness and family drama, and raising three rebellious kids. She deserves a slice of cake with all the frosting.

But like a teenager, she won’t hear me. However, I do hear the words I wish I could say to her. I remind myself that indulging in a piece of cake doesn’t diminish my worth. I tell myself that the size on the dress label doesn’t quantify my life, which is measured by the memories I create—both past and ongoing. Life is about cherishing experiences, such as dancing to music that’s just a little too loud for the neighbors.

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Summary:

In this reflective piece, Eliza Hartman shares her experiences with her mother, who struggles with body image and weight despite her youthful spirit. As they both navigate their relationships with food and self-acceptance, Eliza contemplates her own journey into middle age and the pressures of societal expectations. Through loving encouragement and self-reflection, she emphasizes the importance of memories over numbers, ultimately celebrating life’s joyful moments.