The Sagest of Advice
Why moms (mine, specifically) rule.
This is part of an ongoing series from the publication Recall: True stories of parents doing it right. Read more about it in my intro piece.
‘Skinny’ is not part of my inner monologue’s vocabulary. It’s not a word I’ve ever used to describe myself, in my own head or out loud, unless in the most ironic and self-deprecating sorts of ways.
Like many girls, I grew up with body image issues and struggled with my weight and appearance for an ungodly (and frankly, stupid) amount of my waking life. I never noticed or cared much until I entered my tweens and teens, when the implications of not being thin start smacking you in your chubby cheeks, a brisk welcome to the new reality – the one where being fat is a high crime punishable by the special kind of unrelenting cruelty only teenagers can inflict on one another. I decided to fix this problem the way 80’s and 90’s pop culture promised it would be solved: exercise! If I just exercised enough, the fat would melt away. Freshman year, just weeks into my high school career, I joined the swim team. (Sadly, that irony was lost on me at the time. Self-conscious about your weight? Why not wander around in a bathing suit in front of your peers for two hours a day?) I wanted to participate in a team sport but not one that would require “teamwork,” but I also did it because swimmers aren’t fat. And if I was a swimmer, I wouldn’t be, either.
In the last couple of years, the scientific community has come to the consensus that exercise does very little, if anything, in aiding weight loss, a lesson I learned the hard way 15 years ago. Despite two hour vigorous daily swim workouts contrasted with the little to no physical activity I was getting before, the scale would not budge. And my inner monologue could not even. Tears flowed, fits were thrown and many doors were slammed.
After a few tearful talks with my mom, I realized that I had to diet if I wanted to see progress. I learned about counting calories, Weight Watchers points, caloric deficits, BMI, body fat percentages and the amount of exercise it takes to burn off a candy bar (hint: it’s a lot). And then I figured out how many weeks it would take for me to reach my goal weight (hint: it was a lot). It felt like I was back at square one.
In yet another one of my frustration-fueled tear fits, just as I was on my way to slam a door for dramatic effect, my mom followed me down the hall and hurled me around before I could carry out my grand exit. I had been wailing about how impossibly long it was going to take to lose the weight, and why should I even bother if it would take so long! (Can you feel my deep teenage angst? It was oozing.) And she said one of the most profound, important pieces of advice I have received in my life. I remember this moment like a mini movie that I play back in my mind, clear as a Youtube clip. (Get it, I’m a millennial!)
“The time is going to pass one way or another. You have a choice. Would you rather feel the exact same way a year from now, or would you rather have lost weight?”
And to that, even my teenage-girl rage could not conjure a sassy retort. I knew immediately she was right; the time would pass whether I decided to work on this problem or not, and I could either make the decision to start now and risk the possibility that it would be hard to eat healthy and things might not go exactly as planned, or I could simply do nothing and nothing would change.
I chose wisely. I lost over 30 pounds that year.
I wish that being thin wasn’t so important to me then. I wish I had been stronger, cared more about learning and being smart and being a good friend instead of trying to being skinny (granted, I was/am awfully smart, but still). But, I don’t regret how things played out because I got that amazing piece of advice out of it. I’ve recalled it and heeded it so many times that I’ve lost count. Anytime I find myself getting impatient with progress of any kind, whether it’s learning a new thing or saving money, where putting in the work can seem a waste of time, I remember: the time is going to pass, one way or another. How do I want to feel a year from now? The same, or changed?
