Weighing In

October 22, 2017

My Nanny, my mother's mother and my favorite person on planet earth until she left us now 22 years ago, told me my mama was teased and bullied for being heavy. Kids in Fort Scott threw rocks at her, she told me. Mom and I never had a chance to talk about that, but I know she struggled with her weight. I know--by virtue of a friend of hers--that when she died, she had a too-small pattern for a pantsuit laid out. She was a gifted seamstress. But she couldn't fit into the size she wanted. 

I have struggled all my life with my stupid weight. As a child, I ate everything I could get my hands on, anytime I could get my hands (or mouth) on it. I loved food. I lived to eat. Eating was comfort and I needed me some comfort. 

So I was a bigger girl with a bad haircut. People who knew me then might object, but I know what I know and how I felt in my big ol' corduroy walking shorts and brass barrette. I was tall enough I could kind of pull it off, but I wasn't the dainty blondes that surrounded me at my somewhat uppity elementary, junior, and high schools. For some reason, though, it didn't bother me much. Everything tasted too damned good.

But I went to college and suddenly I got the bug to be thin. For a long while I ate one meal a day. The pounds just dripped off. For the first time in my life I wasn't a big girl. I was hooked.

It's been 25 years since I caught the skinny bug. My weight has fluctuated a bit since then, but it nevertheless governs much of my life. I'm not as skinny as I want to be, but middle age also has its challenges. I don't eat like a normal person. I exercise habitually. Sometimes maniacally. Guilt over what I eat is a nasty weapon against which I have little ammo.

Why am I writing this? Eh, I don't know. Maybe I'm hungry. Maybe I recognize how ridiculous and trite are these concerns in the face of real trauma, heartache, poverty, disease, struggle.

Maybe I'm tired of fighting it. Maybe I'm angry Mama died feeling fat. Maybe I wish I had my dad's epic metabolism and I could eat and be teeny. (That would be amazing!)

I have two kiddos with completely different body types. Probably to a fault, I won't say a word about their weight. I desperately want them to be happy with what they see in the mirror. And healthy. That I want more than anything. 

But I know this: if I make it to heaven (and my fingers are crossed), it will be all you can eat. 24/7.

Praise the Lord.