Fat Intervention

My Mother invites me to lunch, her treat. (Of course, I have to find and pay for a sitter but let's be positive, right?) Five minutes after sitting down she can't hold it in any longer. She blurts, "I really thought you must be really mad at me about the email I wrote you."

"What email?" I say.

"I wrote you an email and titled it 'For your Eyes Only' just in case Van (my hubby) would see it." she says.

I should state here that my Mom (Ronda) holds the belief that every forwarded email she gets is so very clever and is a "must see" for me. As such, I am in the habit of deleting most of her emails without opening them.

"What was it about?" I ask.

"Well, now I feel silly for worrying that you were mad at me..." she begins.
"I guess you don't realize how heavy a person is until you see them in a bathing suit... and when I saw you at that 4th of July picnic I was just shocked at how big you'd gotten."

At this point I am thinking how much courage it took for me to appear in a bathing suit in front of my family. But, on that day, I thought about how much my children love to swim and how much I love to swim with them and decided that their happiness was more important than my vanity. I didn't want my weight to keep my children or I from enjoying ourselves. I remember how hard it was at that picnic to act like I didn't care how big my body was and just carry on and have fun.

"Also," she continues, "I mentioned Leann and her running around with her tits hanging out and don't you think Van notices her?"

Leann is my nineteen year old babysitter whom Van and I have known since she was 14. We are good friends with her parents and have seen her through many awkward phases. My Mother thinks Leann is a temptation for Van? Unbelievable. Not that she couldn't be a temptation... she's young and cute but as Van said when I told him about the conversation, "Give me a little credit Ronda...besides, that kid annoys the sh*t out of me!"

At any rate, the conversation continues and I get the feeling I am in the middle of some sort of fatty intervention.

Why do people feel the need to confront you and your "problems"? I mean, I would understand if I were a drug addict or something, neglecting my children. And if her main concern were my children or my health, I might even be open to her "intervention". But these are not her main concerns.

"What about Van?" She asks. "Don't you think he deserves a skinny wife? Don't you think he will go and find it somewhere else if he isn't getting it from you?"

Okay, so I feel compelled to stop her here and remind her that I have had three children in the last six years so obviously, my hubby is "getting it" often enough. Second, what the hell? Perhaps in her marriage(s) there is no more to the relationship than physical attraction (oh, and money, there's money, too) but my marriage has more than that. Certainly physical attraction is important, but I guess my husband loves me enough to love all of me. Maybe he still thinks of me the way I looked when we met and before the kids... I don't know. What I do know is that there is no lacking in intimacy in our relationship and ours is one hell of a lot healthier than hers.

One of the main problems is that I was raised to believe that physical appearance, material things, having more that others is most important in life. I have since learned differently and constantly struggle to overcome years of brainwashing by my beautiful and narcissistic mother. I suppose her point in all of this is that I have gone and committed the ultimate sin... I got fat. Oh, and I occasionally venture out of the house without make-up. Yes, I should be excommunicated from the church of material wealth and judgemental pricks. And I would be proud to be thrown from their midst.

Back to our conversation...

"...so I'm just really concerned about you. You are much too young and pretty to let yourself go and ..." she is saying.

"Wait, wait," I interrupt her, "you think I'm overweight? Me? Huh. I've haven't looked in a mirror or been on a scale in the last six years. I had no idea I might have some extra pounds."
(I wanted to add that I hadn't even bought new clothes and that I was still somehow squeezing
my 300 pound ass into my size tens... but I resisted.)

She looks at me scornfully.

"Seriously, Mom, did this really warrant an email and a lunch? Do you think I am unaware of myself? Did you think I was just hoping it was 'a little water weight'? Of course not. So why do you feel the need to address MY weight in an email?

She lays on the guilt.

"Well, I just wanted to let you know I am concerned. I mean, your health will suffer and your kids will be embarrassed by you."

I back down. This makes me think. Are my kids embarrassed by me? Am I going to die a premature donut-induced death and leave Van to raise the kids by himself, or, if my mum is right, with Leann?
Then I remember that I am not her. That I am trying to raise my children better. That, hopefully, I have taught them better than to be embarrassed by appearances.

I tell her that I am trying and that I am aware of the problem. That conversations like this one only make me feel worse.

I think maybe she needs to focus on her own life. She's got a husband she despises, a dissatisfying job, and she shops and drinks to make herself happy. But I mention none of this. I thank her for her concern and tell her I'll let her know how things are going.

I tell her maybe Van deleted the email, thinking it might hurt my feelings. Gently trying to tell her that she has hurt my feelings.

"He's very protective of me in that way." I say, hinting maybe she could stand to be more like Van in this way.

I go home, find the email unopened in my inbox. I delete it without reading it. It will only hurt me more and serve no good purpose. Much like my mother's "intervention lunch".

Big Girl