I wish I had a different dad. I wish I was blessed with a dad who would take time out of his day to ask me “How are you?” instead...
“One hundred pounds” the doctor read off the scale. I looked over to see my mother smiling in approval. The doctor, however, looked worried, as she told me that this put me in the bottom 25% of my height group. I shrugged off this comment, as I had my mom’s approval and that was all I needed.
I was the girl who got complimented on my appearance, more than once. With a slim body but perky boobs, I was noticed by all. My family was proud to have a “tiny girl” in the family, and I was consistently reminded that I had to stay at this weight.
Flash forward to when I entered college, one of the worst times of my life. I was stuck in a revolving door relationship, where I couldn’t get out but I knew I had to for my own safety. My friends slowly started to dwindle away and food became a source of comfort, 105, 110, 115.. I watched as the number on the scale increased and increased. Every time I came home, I walked into a barrage of negative words. “When did you gain all this weight? What did I always tell you? More water. More workout. Less food.” Instead of smiling at my body, I was being told to eat less of this and less of that, and just drink water. My home life became so hostile that I rarely went home. I stayed in my college town, where my mother’s words could not affect me.
And now, to the present. I’m officially at over 125 pounds, and my mother is very disappointed in me. She has no positive thing to say to me, only negative criticisms. But when will she realize that her support is what I need? That her criticisms only throw me farther into a deep hole that I cannot get out of without her help?