I was pretty sure that last post was going to leave everyone quieted but it seems as though many of you have had similar experiences in your lives.
I didn’t write it to express anger or resentment towards my mother. We were talking last night and she said she felt so awful about that moment. I look at it more as of coming of age experience and not a moment of wounding. It was when I went from being an innocent kid to a preteen who was aware of the skin I shouldn’t be so comfortable in. The thing is, I truly was overweight. Not just a little, either. My mom had been overweight as a child and she wanted to spare me the painful experiences she endured as a result. She really did mean well and I wasn’t so much hurt by her words and startled by the realization that there was something not quite right with my body.
It’s just so hard. I seem to have a genetic predisposition to chubbiness. When I was young I was active and never really overate. Sure there were slurpees and cookies and junk food, but never more than any of my other skinny friends were eating. We rode our bikes everywhere, we played softball, we swam, we dangled from monkey bars. I was just always bigger than everyone else.
What if Avelyn has inherited my body type? How will I deal with my longing for her to be naturally thin and free from worry about food, her shape, and what society views as shortcomings? Will she be writing about the moment I told her she was fat on her blog 20 years from now?
These are just some of the questions I have been thinking of, as I continue to face my own daily battle with body image. I so badly want to be free from the struggle and for my daughter to never have to wage this war.
I am not depressed or drowning in sorrow about the thickness of my thighs. Really, I’ve been pretty happy and perky, so don’t worry that I am wallowing in the pain of the past. I have just been doing some thinking about my story and the moments that made me who I am.