Feeling Comfortable in My Genes

This is a post I wrote a few weeks ago when my mom was visiting. 

 I wasn't sure if I should post it or not. Still not sure...

Today was a momentous one for me in relation to my weight loss in a couple different ways.

First, you know that pair of jeans in your closet that doesn't fit you anymore but you still hang on to because you absolutely love them and you're just so sure you're going to be able to fit into them again?  I fit into mine today!  The cutest pair of Banana Republic cropped boyfriend jeans from over 6 years ago that I wore only once (before seeing my gorgeous, skinny neighbor in the same pair and realized they didn't look anything like that on me) and vowed I'd get my big 'ol butt in them properly some day.  Well, today was that day!

Secondly, it was the first time I'd seen my mom since I started this weight loss journey five months ago.  Let me first state that I adore my mother with all of my heart.   However, in addition to being wonderful, kind, caring, thin, and beautiful she also has a slight obsession with weight (namely mine).  It's kind of difficult to write about because not only do I not want to hurt her feelings, but it's been a contentious issue for many years - one that rather than argue about we tend to sweep under the rug. I am only brave enough to write this now because I know she can't read it as the only computer in our household happens to be in my hot little hands. Sorry mom.

Don't be a hater though. My mom's mild preoccupation with my weight is truly out of love. She wants me to be happy and healthy - there's nothing wrong with that.  Considering my genetic make-up it's normal to be concerned about what could've happened to me if I were to have continued to spiral out of control (hyper-tension, heart disease, cancer....and that's just the first page of my dad's medical history!).  Sometimes, however, the way in which she expressed her motherly love felt more like disappointment to me that it was meant to. 

What it comes down to is this: my parents raised a perfectionist.  I was this way not because they expected perfection from me (they didn't), but because that is how I was (am!) wired.  When I got older, however, I found myself doing everything possible to shake that damn perfectionist because I had realized something...I was not, nor would I ever be perfect.  Once I realized this it occurred to me that no matter what I did I was obviously going to let everyone down so might as well just become the antithesis of perfect which, to me at the time, was fat.

That didn't go over real well for Joycy because a) she loves me b) she loves my family c) she knew I was hurting and using the fat to hide that - she's my mom after all, she can see through anything (even layers of adipose tissue!).  So when my few extra pounds appeared to be turning into an extra 40 pounds she took notice and attempted to help.  The only problem was - what's that old addage - you can't help someone if they don't want to be helped?  That was me.

Things are different now, though, and I just couldn't wait to show her that her little girl was done hiding. She was, not surprisingly, thrilled to see the changes.  

Yep, even at 37 years old a daughter still craves her mother's approval.