Dig deep...

But where do I start?

Although my blog is primarily about my weight, it is also about my life, and how I feel about things. It is amazingly therapeutic, writing in general. In a previous entry I had mentioned about self sabotage, and I found great comfort knowing I wasn't alone. Consider this entry can one of the shelf of worms that need to be opened.

A big part of my life has always been revolved around the way I look. I never used to be this big. Remember that high school feeling? You know, when you felt like an elephant? And then you look at pictures from high school and realize you looked good, a lot better than you do now?! That's how I feel all the time. Regret. I was raised in a very loving household, fortunate to have both parents AND a set of very loving grandparents. What's the problem you ask? Trying to win over the love of my mother. It sounds terrible. So terrible that I really didn't want to write about it at all. What would my family and friends think of me, if I wrote poor words about my mom? I have more issues than Vogue with her, and I'm ready to open up that can of worms. It's been long over due.

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Ever since I can remember she has always made a big deal about our weight. When I was little I had severe issues with my health. I remember being in and out of the hospital for crazy fevers, malnutrition, and excruciating fever blisters. It wasn't her fault I was technically malnourished, I was a willful child who flat out REFUSED TO EAT. Ask anyone in my family. They will tell you horror stories about my hospital visits. I remember most of it too; I really wasn't hungry. And when you're not hungry, you don't eat. I spent most of my younger childhood weighing 55-60lbs up until about the fifth grade. Even then my family members would poke fun at me for being a lanky little thing. Everyone except my grandparents who recognized there was a serious problem with me. 


In grade school, my sister was picked on the most by our family. She wasn't by any stretch fat; compared to me everyone looked well fed, because they were. One thing you should know about my mom, is that she has this annoying tendency to repeat herself several times, until you're almost positive that you will spontaneously combust---and be nothing but a char mark on the couch. Do you see where I'm going with this? It's not enough that the words passing through her lips are excrutiatingly painful, she has to repeat them over and over again--beating you into complete and utter submission, where you have nothing else left but to believe what she says is the truth. Eventually Hien thinned out, and when I began to pack on pounds she came after me.


It doesn't matter how old you are, pain is pain. Whoever told me that "sticks and stones will break your bones, but words can never hurt me" is a lying bastard. I'd rather suffer through broken bones. Your parents are supposed to love you, no matter what. When they say hurtful things to you, how else are you supposed to respond? Anyone's natural response or feeling is that you are unworthy of their love, because you can't please them or make them proud--that something must be wrong with you. On any given day, do you know how many times my mother tells me I need to lose weight? I mean this in no exaggeration, it happens at least 2x every hour I'm around her. It only stops when I'm sleeping. Even when I'm away on a holiday or working she calls me to remind me not to eat junk and I'd be so much prettier if I'd lose weight. Then she could buy me all these nice clothes and make me beautiful so a nice rich man would notice me, marry me, and in return pay to take care of my mother whom I love so much. GAG ME.


Like there's nothing else to me but this blob of adipose living in the world. That all of my hard work at school has made me a young successful woman. That I sustain enough money to completely support myself, and even look ahead to my future. That I'm smart enough to make really responsible decisions, that I survived my teenage years without be arrested, getting pregnant, or spin out of  control. None of it matters, because I'm FAT and therefore casted off into the pile where  unloved things deserve to belong.


Okay fine. So maybe I'm not giving her enough room to defend herself. In my mother's defense, she grew up in a very different culture. She grew up as a poor country girl in Vietnam where their only way out of poverty I'm sure, was to be as beautiful as they could be and marry rich. Well mom, I'm sorry but you raised an American kid. It is extremely rewarding and unbearable at the same time to be first generation. The pressure is astounding. Pressure to keep traditions of your heritage alive and still incorporate the new ones. She never had a very pleasant mother I've been told also, but for me that's all the reason more to show your kids you love them. In some twisted way, my mom really does believe her actions and words are out of love. This is something that I will probably spend a good portion of my life trying to understand, and I just can't.


The root of my self sabotage lies within myself. Fears that I have about what will happen. Is it easier remaining the girl who "could have been so much, but only if she had lost more weight and took care of herself better"? To be quite honest, probably. Because at least then, all my mom would care about is my weight--the literal physical shield of blubber that would keep her from penetrating into my soul, where more important things lie.

But this isn't the path I chose for myself this time around.

I'm going to have to face this phase of my life alone. No one else can help me. I need to be okay with knowing my self worth. How valuable, how happy and how much love I deserve. It's not going to be easy by any stretch, but I refuse to just try--I will do. I do love my mom, very much so and unconditionally. I don't have to understand why she acts the way she does, all I understand right now--is that my mom is a person. An actual PERSON. Meaning she's no super hero or the be all to end all. That your parents are human, who are just like you, who make mistakes and are trying to make sense of things just as desperately as you are. I don't hate her by any means, because now I have the strength and ability to change the way I feel about myself.