fat

The Mother of excuses

My entire left I felt bad for my Mom; she always made it sound like she was the victim of the (whatever) situation she was in. Whether it was because she didn’t have any money, had problems at work or something else. I, as a very sensitive and observing child, felt bad and guilty. I wanted to help her and it saddened me she was miserable.

Sometimes when I wanted to play dress up, she let me try on her “skinny” clothes (the ones she couldn’t fit in anymore). Every time she looked at the smaller jeans or M-size sweater, her face turned into a regretful facade, and she almost whispered a new promise of trying to lose weight again. Even if just a couple of pounds! I gladly backed her up, and hoped that this time she meant it.

Fast-forward to yesterday, she messaged me on Facebook that she is going to the gym. “Is that the gym where you lay on your back and you have the machine massage your fat?” I had to ask. She joined that scam fitness a few years ago. Obviously, it didn’t do anything for her but provided her with an excuse that she was “trying.”

Twenty made-up facts later, she was determined that she is “too fat” to go on a running machine and can’t possibly run. I wanted to send her the video of The Biggest Loser or something like that. But I didn’t. I decided I was done. Done trying to help her. Done trying to support her. Since I have known her, she has every excuse not to lose weight. She won’t accept other people’s help. She won’t listen to anyone but herself and the lies she makes up in her head. I won’t listen to her stories about bad investments she has made and lost money. I won’t listen to her complaints about how everything is wrong at work and she can’t do anything about it. I’m done. DONE.

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The beautiful “beached whale” ballerina

She was gracious, elegant and beautiful. Her hands moved in harmony with the hands of other girls. Her strong legs did grand jetés, pas de deuxs, pirouettes, plies with elegance of a butterfly. She had confidence and one could tell she loved ballet more than anything.

As I excitedly watched my niece’s beautiful ballet recital, giggles interrupted the enjoyment of the performance. “My goodness, that girl looks like a whale.” More giggles. Parents in the crowd were mocking the poor 10-year old girl on stage. She obviously stood out among the freakishly skinny, lean, and bony co-ballerinas. Her jumps might have been heard louder since gravity hit the stage with more force, but her dancing wasn’t worse for it.

“That’s probably why Mrs. April put her in the back row,” the other woman commented. “Poor girl, she looks horrible in that costume.” With a loud “shhhh” I tried to tone down their obnoxious gossiping, but it was too late as they already ruined the night.

Grown women criticizing a young girl for her weight. I couldn’t believe it. After the show, as I waited for my niece, the young girl passed me by. I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked back at me; her make-up was still intact and she looked happy. “Your looked great out there,” I said. “Don’t ever quit ballet.” She smiled widely, mumbled “thanks” and joined her friends. I spent the rest of the day thinking what is wrong with this world.

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