She was so fat she couldn’t fit into a telephone box. How could anyone be that big? It didn’t seem possible. But it was. It was common knowledge. How did she feel? Was there anything wrong with her? Unfortunately, we didn’t wonder. Instead, we felt sorry for her daughter. Who wants to have a mother so big everyone talks about her?
People talked about my mother too. But not because she was fat because she wasn’t. She was beautiful. People said, “Surely, she can’t be your mother?” It didn’t seem possible. She looked more like my sister.
There was another mother. She wasn’t fat either. She had the opposite problem. She couldn’t put on weight. She ate and ate to prevent herself from disappearing. She could eat donuts by the boxful. My friends and I wished we could eat as many cakes as we liked. Well, I suppose we could have. As long as we didn’t mind not fitting into a telephone box.
The skinny mother belonged to the tennis club. So did mine. (I don’t think the larger mother did.) During the school holidays, I went to the tennis club too. I’d sit quietly in the corner listening to the women chatting in between games. They often talked about their weight and other people’s. “Did you hear about the woman who lost a lot of weight? She and her husband are getting a divorce. He says she’s changed, become a different person.” A better person? A worse one? I don’t know.
All my life, the issue of weight has been at the back of my mind. Am I too fat? (Never too thin.) Can I afford to eat a helping of this? Yes? No? Perhaps not.
I come from a less-than-average family. We’re not tall. We’re not wide. We were made to be small. Small is who I am. Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if I put on lots of weight. Would I become someone else? What would people think if I became round and wobbly? Would they talk about me: “What happened? She used to be so small. Why did she let herself get that way?”
Yes, people might talk. I couldn’t bear that, so I watch what I eat. I also run. But even though I do all that, I still weigh more than I should. Not much. Not so you’d notice at first glance. But if you look closely, you might see that I’m not quite what I used to be. I’m not happy about that. How did it happen? A lack of self-control? I feel ashamed.
I’m ashamed of quite a few things. My strong legs carry me up steep hills, but you should see my arms and my soft pillow middle. If I weren’t so lazy, I’d lift some weights, do some Pilates, tone up this body of mine. Perhaps some exercise would send everything back to where it belongs. Or could it be too late? I could tighten up all my muscles, but what about my skin?
My skin is sliding down my face. There’s a nice pool of it under my chin. Why didn’t I buy the necessary lotions that would have kept me looking young? The anti-ageing ads warned me. But I didn’t listen, so it’s my fault that I’m looking old. I feel ashamed.
Of course, I don’t feel ashamed all the time. I’m not that wrapped up in myself. I know there are more important things in life than what we look like. But still, feelings of shame lurk at the back of my mind. They’re always there waiting, hoping to spoil a happy moment. If I’m not careful, they can control how I feel.
Have you ever thought about how shame controls?
Shame is used all the time in schools to make kids work: “If you don’t pass your exam, you’ll be at the bottom of the class. What will your parents say?”
Parents use it to control their children’s behaviour:
“Don’t ever do anything that will bring shame to the family.”
“How could you have done that? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Or sometimes parents don’t have to say a word. It’s all in the look. We don’t even have to open our mouths.
I hate feeling ashamed. I don’t want my kids to feel this way. I don’t want them to live with this burden. So I watch what I say. And I thought I was doing okay until the other day.
Sophie and I took a trip to Sydney together. As soon as we arrived, we bought coffee from a kiosk in the park outside the art gallery. As we sat sipping, we took photos of each other. And we soaked up the happy moment.
When we got home, Sophie showed her photos to me: “Aren’t these great, Mum? You look so beautiful!”
I looked. And instead of smiling and accepting the compliment, I said, “Oh no, look at the wrinkles around my jaw! I look old.” The happy moment we’d captured turned sour.
I often say, “I look so old!” and “I feel so fat!” With those words, I’m passing on old mother and fat mother stories to my children. This time, the stories aren’t about telephone boxes and donuts and someone else’s mothers. These ones are about me.
Passing on the stories. Passing on the shame.
Will my kids’ happiness be controlled by their weight, their age, their appearances? Or can I do something to prevent that? Perhaps I need to accept myself just as I am. Like my kids do. They think I’m beautiful. Maybe I am.
So I have a new story. I don’t mind if it’s passed around. It goes like this:
I’m Sue Elvis. I’m not as young as I used to be. I have wrinkles and crinkles and skin that’s sliding south. My muscles are soft, and my middle is a bit like a pillow. But that’s okay because however old I am, whatever I look like, I’m still me. And that’s who I’m happy to be.
Yes, I don’t want to be anyone else.
“I look better when I smile,” I say to Sophie as I scroll through her photos. Yes, a huge smile lifts my skin high, putting everything almost back in place.
I think I’ll keep smiling. This won’t be difficult to do. You see, I’ve got a lot to smile about. Have you?
Photo
One of my Sydney photos. I took a photo of Sophie taking photos of the runners exercising during their lunch breaks.
This is a tough time of life as we transition to the menopause years where all our skin becomes floppy and we gain weight easily. Your pillow tummy birthed eight beautiful children don’t forget.
I’d say running is something to be proud of. I couldn’t do it!
We certainly need to watch our messages, but I think our kids understand we are struggling with change.
xo Jazzy Jack
Jack,
Yesterday, Sophie and I were talking about age and beauty. She said that it’s not only the young who are beautiful. We don’t grow less beautiful as we age. Maybe we continue to grow into it. She also told me we have to remember what the wrinkles and soft skin represent. What we have done to earn them. I think her thoughts fit in with yours: “Your pillow tummy birthed eight beautiful children don’t forget.” It’s funny and wonderful how my teenager is giving me wise advice. And thank you for your reassuring words too!
I hadn’t thought about how our kids probably understand about our struggles with change. You are right. I really do hope though that when it’s my kids turn to move onto a new stage in life that they will find it easier to accept. Not that I have problems every day. On the whole, I’m doing okay. It’s just that sometimes that little voice in my head interferes with me being completely happy. I wish I could get rid of it!
Running? Oh yes, running helps. This morning, it felt like -1 degree C when we headed out for our run. I didn’t really want to go. But at the same time, I was grateful I am healthy and fit enough to run. I shall enjoy it while I can. You might not run, but I bet there are other things that you do that give you the same sense of accomplishment and satisfaction!
Hey Sue, beautiful, as always (and the post ?)
Loving what my daughter says to me at the moment when I start being less than kind to myself – “Don’t talk to my friend like that”.
Helps to remind me how I feel when I hear those I love talking to themselves like that. Still hasn’t stopped me though. Will try harder!
Thanks for sharing x
Hayley,
I am so excited to see you on my blog! We haven’t spoken for a long time and I was wondering how you are. Some weeks ago, I was correcting a couple of my video transcripts so I could use them as posts. Oh my, it took me a long time to get the words right. Doing this gave me a real appreciation for all the hard work you did fixing a few of my other videos. Thank you so much for doing that for me!
I love your daughter’s words. Yes, we have to be kinder to ourselves. I shall try harder too!
Thank you so much for stopping by!
I too have always struggled with body image. By worrying so much my daughter also worries about her weight. I know I passed that on to her. I also had a mother who was heavy and I always worried I would be to. Now at 50 it’s about being healthy, not skinny. I try my best to keep my weight at a low number. I’m not always successful. I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia several months ago and because of that I am in constant pain and intense exercise is difficult for me now.But, I try to walk every day. Not as fast as a lot of people, but I do it. Sometimes on a trail near my home with my youngest Nathan who is entering community college in the fall, hard to believe my unschooling days are pretty much behind me. Or walking with my daughter Emily who like her brother is on her own journey.
We all want to do things to better ourselves. Hopefully that will be accomplished and if we don’t lose all the weight we want, God loves us because He made us, and that’s enough. Sue your a beautiful lady who is so loving as you care for your family. They are so blessed. Blessings, Nancy
Nancy,
I’m so sorry to hear you are suffering from fibromyalgia. Perhaps it’s difficult accepting you can’t be as active as you might like. My daughter has this condition as well and I know some days she can’t do much at all. I’m imagining you and Nathan or Emily strolling slowly along the trail near your home, enjoying each other’s company and the summer sunshine. It’s a lovely picture. I guess you will miss your son when he is busy at college. But you probably also feel happy because he’s ready to move onto the next stage. Mixed emotions, maybe.
It’s strange how our mothers’ experiences can affect us so much. You wanted to avoid being as heavy as your mother. I felt I had to be as trim and young looking as mine. Yes, God loves us regardless of our weight and that indeed is enough. Sending love to you and your family xxx
It is a good first step. Perhaps you will one day notice that you use hardly any physical characteristics to describe yourself because, in the end, you discover that they are so much less important and defining than other descriptors. Hugs.
Phyllis,
“It is a good first step.” Yes, I suspect I’m just at the beginning! But I’m confident I’ll get to the stage you describe. It sounds like a very comfortable place to be. Yes, to be completely free of all those niggling shaming thoughts. Thank you so much for your wise words. And thank you for the hugs!
Shame…
Yes, I suppose I have been running away from this feeling. Can one run away from it? I tried anyways. It always starts with the family: when I was a child and couldn’t solve a problem, my dad would call me a log. So I stopped asking questions because I didn’t want to be called that.
I received me secondary education in the Soviet Union, where shaming a student was a norm. Bad students, we were told, are letting their country down!
After the USSR collapsed and everyone had to pay for college, the shame was in the money that your parents have to “waste” if you cannot keep your grades up.
Then I traveled to South Korea to study for the Master’s. The biggest shame there was bringing your family down. Generations and generations of hard working members of your family labored day and night so that you could have the life you have, and how are you paying back now?!
Then I traveled to the US to get my Ph.D. Shame is not used as much here. It is mostly bribe and fear (not sure which one is worse). So I suppose I had to travel all the way to the opposite side of the planet to feel less ashamed. However, even now when my brain is not fast enough to solve a riddle or to understand some concept, I feel pretty much like a log. My husband tells me all the right words but at that moment they don’t mean much. I know he loves me so he doesn’t have an objective view 🙂 Well, in my mind no one has an objective view when I feel like a log. After a while, of course, I solve everything there was to solve and it makes me feel better, it makes me feel like a log with potential.
Maybe shame is part of the reason I decided to keep my children away from the school system. I try to watch the words that are coming out of my mouth but sometimes they fly out before I can catch them… Why is it so natural for us to criticize?
And Sue, you look stunning! Keep on smiling! When I look at you, I want to smile too!
Natasha,
Thank you for sharing your story. I feel sorry you’ve had to deal with a lot of shame. Words can affect us so deeply, can’t they? Even when we feel we’ve dealt with them and moved on, they can reappear and cause us pain.
Perhaps when we’ve experienced shame we find it harder to see ourselves as clearly as other people, especially those who love us. Obviously, your husband knows you well and he can see you’re not a log. I can see that too even though I’ve never met you. You think and seek answers and want different and better things for your children than those you experienced. I want that too. We try, and even if at times we do fail to say the right words, it doesn’t matter. Our kids know what’s in our hearts.
Thank you for your kind words. They are making me smile!
Well, my siblings were not affected by the harsh words at all~ just me 🙂
It had its benefits, though: by the time I reached the school age, I was pretty much immune to the criticism of other people!
More on aging.
My husband is a historian and the other day he was interviewing his own grandfather about WWII. My grandfather-in-law is 98 years old. He is still driving, talking long walks, working crossword puzzles, cutting wood to prepare for the cold winter weather; and he absolutely refuses to move in and live with us because “well, sure, when I am old, I will move in with you!” In fact, as I was listening to his stories of a young American soldier in France, he mentioned “all the girls were so beautiful! If only I were 30 years younger, I would have traveled there again!” My husbanded winked at me: “30 years ago he was 68! ”
I believe we are as beautiful and/or as old as we make ourselves feel, everything else is societal pressures. We need to be more like babies: they never think that they are too chubby, or that their heads are too big, or their bellies are sticking out, or that they constantly need help from others… We should stop chastising ourselves. Why don’t we draw a thread from unschooling to unaging! 🙂
Natasha,
I love your grandfather-in-law story. We need more stories like this. Just imagine if our kids heard lots of positive stories about people who are comfortable with their increasing age instead of the ones where everyone complains about how old they are and their ageing appearance!
“30 years ago he was 68! ” In another thirty years, when I look back to today, I’m going to think I was young. What was I worrying about? So I’m not going to worry. Unschooling to unaging? Yes!