Day 4 - Something you have to forgive someone for.

Shall we discuss my father issues?  No, we did that here.

My mom? Generally, no. She wasn't always the best, but I'm a mom now so I get it. The stress and everything can just sometimes be rough, and I do know two things that make the issues I sometimes have tolerable. 1 - She loves me with all her heart. 2- She did the very best she could with the skills she had available to her.

How can you hold a hard grudge against someone like that?

Ok, here is how. She has body issues. She was a child's size 14 when I was growing up. We shared jeans until I was 12. Then I grew out of them. I mean, come on. A childs 14? Bullshit. Hmm. . I digress. The point is, she was very clearly, NOT fat. She was skinny. Unhealthily so. And yet, I constantly heard her saying she was fat, worrying about the food she ate, dieting, lamenting that she couldn't get in her high school clothes. . . because yes, she apparently was skinnier at some point.

So if she was fat, and I was bigger that her, what did that make me? Flubber. . I think.

Looking back I know I wasn't. I wore a size 2 when I graduated 8th grade. I weighed 122 lbs when I started dating my husband at age 16. I was a size 6 when I graduated high school. That fact that I know all that makes me very sad.

When I was 8 she made me eat a whole box of candy because I had snuck some. She had never offered to share, and I am sorry, that is bad parenting. She told me that she was angry because she could never have treats without me eating them all, and since I wanted them so badly, I could have them all. Translation - you are a little piggy, eat it up.

When I was a freshman in high school, and the hips and breasts were turning me from a muscular rail into a curvy young woman, I felt fat. Of course. I went crying to my mom, and instead of telling me that I was lovely and that the growth was normal and healthy and perfect, she offered to buy me some Lean Cuisine. Not only did that confirm that I was fat, but it told me that the problem was just with me, and not with my family as a whole. Even typing this now, almost 20 years later makes me want to shrink into my own skin.

Last year she came to visit and I had some jeans I didn't like. I asked her if she wanted them. "Oh, honey they won't fit me." I told her there was no harm in trying them. Retirement has not been kind to her figure. They fit. "These are to small for you, right?" "Actually they fit fine, I just don't like the rise." And wait for it people, she actually said, out loud even, "Oh my God I have gotten so fat." In a huff, I told her it was nice that I could be the line she drew between what was fat and what was not. She assured me that it was our frames. "Your bone structure is so much bigger than mine"

Yeah, but your a bitch.

Here is the thing though. Even though I cannot stop that ugly feeling, that dark rotten twist in my core that makes me hate food, makes it hard to eat when I feel bad about myself, makes me hate my body . . no wait, there is no 'thing'. I don't care about your issues mom, you fucked up and you should feel like shit over it.

Karma made you gain 40 pounds. So there.

But here is why I have to forgive her. 1 - I love her with all my heart. 2 - I know she did the very best she could with the skills she had available to her. Most importantly though it is because of reason number 3. - I am a mom now. To a little girl. One who hears me talk about life in terms of healthy choices, and being strong and capable. One who will not hear me obsess about weight loss. Or weight gain. Or the size of my pants. I don't even have my old high school clothes.

I let her jiggle my arm, play with my soft belly, tell me I have squishy cheeks. She says I have strong legs, and that I can ride a bike for a long time. I am teaching her that bodies come in all sizes and shapes and that they are all beautiful tools. If someone had done that for my mother, think of how much better of I would be.