How my mom taught me to be brave in my own skin

The aftermath of my anticipation of the new bikini’s arrival; the retail therapy session in between; the first introduction to said bikini; the intermediate rejection of it and chip consoling consumptions; the day after’s resurgence of my ultimate goal – “To be happy in my own skin.”

All of it took me on a wild a*s emotional roller coaster this weekend.

I’m exhausted.  Even though it worked out, and the tiny pieces magically fit somehow, I was feeling depressed for some reason.

Women do that from time to time.

When those moments hit, they seem to pile up, especially in the cold of winter, it can drive us batsh*t crazy, I tell ya.

When those moments come around, I always long to take a seat and talk with my mom.  Mom’s know how to make things better.

She would’ve raved about me being brave to wear a bikini. “Go for it!” She’d no doubt have said.

She did, no matter what she weighed, she opted for the bikini.  I rarely saw her in one, but I found that to be the case, much later in life.

After we moved her to a memory care facility, I was charged with the task to go through her photos.  I sorted through albums upon albums of her travels with friends, my dad, and then later collections of photos with my step-father that included trips to the beach and photos of her in a bikini.  A brave side of mom, I never knew.

I wasn’t surprised, though.  She was brave to be her own person in whatever she wore.

She’s been gone almost 7 years.  But, I still think of her often.  Especially when we’re planning a trip.  The trip we took in 2012 was right before she passed away.

Mom was an eccentric person who wasn’t ever physically petite.  The least she ever weighed was right before she passed away.  A few months on Hospice and she lost a considerable amount of weight.  She was almost in the ‘healthy’ weight range for her height.

Her doctor was worried about her though.  They had a long history together.  Rarely did they have a doctor’s visit where mom’s weight wasn’t argued about for affecting, or not, her diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol; you know, all the good stuff that obesity loves to play havoc with within your life.

When the doctor said she was worried about mom’s weight loss, she playfully told the doctor, “I can feel my knees now; my pants aren’t tight; I’m enjoying the new look. It’s kind of fun to be skinny, finally.”  Even with her dementia, she was still a woman with feelings about appearances.

In a way, I’m in uncharted territory for myself.  It’s been 36 years since I weighed what I weighed back in high school.  And, yet, here I am, worried not so much about my weight, but the changing condition of my aging skin.  I’m finding the newfound sags are a drag.

I don’t want to embarrass my Mr. or my kids on the beach.  Or myself for that matter.  My mom would huff and laugh and say, “If the bikini fits – wear it, my dear!”

My mom’s weight bothered me many times during our life together.  When I was little, it didn’t bother me so much, her extra fluff provided for some awesome cozy hugs which I was comforted by more times than not.

But as I got older, I learned things in school about BMI and all that stuff that makes anorexia and bulimia run rampant in teenage girls.

I tried all sorts of diets and starvation techniques to compete with the other girls who made it look so easy.  She’d just tell me to keep moving and skip that kind of stuff.  She couldn’t relate to the desire to be extra skinny.  It wasn’t her thing.

Mom’s concern about her weight was different from mine.  She rarely indicated to me that it was a bad thing to carry extra weight.  It was just her.  If the jeans didn’t fit one day, all you have to do is lay down on the bed, suck your gut in, and they’ll magically button.  I don’t know how she could breathe, but it seemed to work for her.

I had different thoughts and techniques to try to never argue with her on how to make clothing fit.  I watched and learned from her what not to do to keep my weight in a healthy zone.

I knew it was not good for her to carry extra weight.  As a teenager, many times I was embarrassed when I’d compare her to other moms.  I never said anything to her, though, I loved her and I accepted her for who she was born to be.

As I was reflecting on the weekend, I looked out at the snow that kept falling.

I was suddenly overwhelmed with deepening fears and chills.

My recent bikini obsessions are tugging at my heartstrings.  I hope to God that watching their Nana, and me, that we’ve both taught my girls to love who they are and to be brave in their skin – no matter what they weigh.

My mom was brave in her own skin.

Frozen in time,

without reason or rhyme,

 

my thoughts of you,

came back in a mind-numbing hue.

I sadly remember

that day in November

where you were proud you had dressed yourself

yet, there I was simply beside myself

worried sick you would fall

and I wouldn’t be there to see it at all.

Despite your independence

turning abruptly to a life of unmistakably needing others for dependence

What that time changing time in life has taught

Is are our desires to be true to ourselves should not be for naught

Even though you struggled at the end

I can’t forget memories of your desires to be true to yourself never did bend

You were always so brave

Some would say, ‘eccentric’ was your fave

There wasn’t a book or a magazine CoverGirl goal you had that I could tell

Other than you reading an occasional Good Housekeeping or Mademoiselle

No, not you, my mother dear,

You said, “Never fear your skin, my dear,

Instead, you modeled an enduring sense of love for your own skin

And from there is where my love for my own skin shall once take hold again.

Post Inspiration – Challenge – Fall In Love With Your Over 50-Self February #FILWYO50SF

PS – To all the moms out there, hope you’re finding ways to love your skin!