The Mother in my Inbox

My parents did a great number of things right when raising my brother and I. Even more than right, they did some things spectacularly. Other things, well, like all parents, their baggage in some ways became ours.

One area where my parents weren't quite sure how to react was my weight. Never obese, I was always slightly larger than most other girls. I was taller from a young age, often mistaken for a child instead of my toddler 2 or 3 year old self. My mother got dirty looks for carrying me around. I remember conversations that my parents had with me, informing me that it looked bad for me to have a temper tantrum because I was 3 but I LOOKED 6. So stop it already.

Shopping for Easter and Christmas dresses was the worst. I remember berating myself in the mirror of the dressing room for not looking good enough as young as the age of 8. I went on my first diet at the age of 9. A 9 year old counting servings on a weight watchers plan, counting up her optional calories to have half a snickers bar. Sick, I tell ya.

I always had enough self-respect to fight back from the control and rejection. But, I also had enough self-esteem not to starve myself or to purge. So, I ate. Whatever I wanted, I ate. Thus, today I am a 14 not the 8 or 10 I'd be at a healthier weight. It's still wrapped up in issues of rebellion and self-loathing that I continuously battle. Add in my PCOS, and you get a nice one-two punch contributing to my excess weight that I both love and hate.

This year, when my mother renewed her Prevention subscription, she got two free gift subscriptions. Lucky me, I got one. She claims she sent it to my brother, too. (Seriously?) Now I get all of these emails in my inbox from Prevention telling me how to have summer arms, bikini stomachs, and toned thighs. It's like having my mother in my inbox. I'm sending her to SPAM.