Having a Fat Mom Made Me a Better Mom
Content Warnings: Disordered eating, intentional weight loss, dieting, mention of weight loss surgery, discussion of terminal illness, body shaming, domestic violence
Image Description: A curly-haired, white toddler smiles open-mouthed at the camera as they rest their hand on their mother's pregnant belly.
The National Alliance For Eating Disorders says 30 percent of young people assigned female at birth and 17 percent of young people assigned male at birth suffer from eating disorders, and 1 in 5 children show signs of disordered eating. So many of these behaviors are learned at home, passed down by family members—especially parents.
I got lucky, however, because I had a fat mom.
The first time I realized my mom’s body size made other people uncomfortable, I was nine years old. I overheard two thin women from our small Baptist church comment on her body size and feign concern for her health. Several things clicked into place: the constant supply of SlimFast in our refrigerator; the big, homemade meals she’d spend hours making, only to watch us enjoy while she nibbled on a salad or a bowl of fruit.
That was also the year her first husband took me outside to show me his weight bench. It was the first time he told me I was becoming “overweight” and I needed to take responsibility for my body, despite my weight being in the “normal” range for a 9-year-old child.
That was the year I realized my mom was fat, and most people don’t like fat bodies.
I watched my mother suffer the cruelty of anti-fatness my entire childhood. Her first husband shamed her body changes, used her body as an excuse to commit violence against her, and blamed her body for his infidelity. Globally, 1 in 3 women will experience intimate partner violence, and my mom was no different. The reasons for this violence are varied, but her fat body was an acceptable excuse for many of the people in our family, church, and community who happily overlooked the bruises and her broken spirit.
But to her credit, she never turned anti-fatness on me. She internalized it and made her peace with it as best she could, but she refused to pass that shame and pain onto her daughter.
Instead of self-hatred and insecurity, she sewed confidence and self-love into me. When I went through puberty and struggled with my body image, she assured me that my body was normal and our bodies are meant to change. When my teenage friends showed signs of disordered eating and influenced my eating habits, my mom reminded me that food isn’t a reward and it doesn’t have a moral value.
Through her words and her actions toward me, my mom broke a “generational curse” of mothers teaching their daughters how to hate their bodies. She refused to watch this horrible tradition carry on in the lives of her children. So, I was raised to believe my body was good enough and if someone judged me or didn’t like me because of my body, then it was their loss. I didn’t need or desire their approval.
Today I am the mom of a teenager. Because of my fat mom, I am a better mom.
Image Description: A fat, white woman with dark hair pulled back in a pink headband and dark glasses holds her newborn child in a hospital bed. The baby is wrapped in a patterned white blanket with only their head exposed. Tamra has one arm under the baby and her other hand resting lightly over the bottom half of their body.
Thanks to my mother’s insight and wisdom about self-worth and body shame, I chose not to make disparaging comments about my body or my child’s body. I don’t compliment their body, either. We talk about their body when they want or if they have a concern, but their appearance doesn’t often come up in our home.
I also taught them to be kind to people and judge them not by how they look but by how they act. They build friendships with others based on kindness, respect, and acceptance. They show up for their friends who struggle with body image issues by providing support and compassion. And despite being a normal teenager who battles moments of insecurity, their appearance is rarely an issue that requires discussion, beyond trying a new hairstyle or fashion trend.
I’ve spoken at lengths with other moms who grew up with parents—often their mothers or “almond moms”—who shamed them for their changing bodies. The harm this caused is far-reaching. I’ve seen friends and family members shrink, both physically and emotionally, after gaining weight from pregnancy or because of an injury or disability. I’ve listened to their moms pick apart their food portions, dietary choices, and waist size, often in front of small children.
Society might endeavor to make me feel like my body is too big or not good enough, but because my mom never did that, I’ve had the strength to love and accept myself, regardless of how other people perceive me. It’s very easy for me to pass this same self-love onto my child, who is now on the precipice of adulthood.
Watching my mom navigate life in a fat body normalized fat bodies for me. Watching her survive a traumatizing divorce from her first husband before meeting a man who loved her and her body, regardless of size, showed me that fat people are capable of great love, great passion, and great joy. She taught me that her body was never the problem. It was always the insecurities of others that held her back from living her life more fully.
I wish I could tell you she lived the rest of her life free of internalized anti-fatness, but the lessons she taught me in childhood were difficult for her to apply to herself. Despite the love and support of her second husband, she felt the weight of society’s expectations and succumbed to them. She had bariatric surgery in the early 2000s, inspired by a new wave of anti-fat rhetoric permeating American culture and medical care. The SlimFasts from my childhood were replaced with smoothies and powders. Massive bottles of vitamins littered her kitchen counters.
As I watched her weight fluctuate, her body reject food, and symptoms of malnutrition take hold of her life, I learned a new lesson: even if you’re in a smaller body, there’s no guarantee you’ll be healthier or happier. Ten years after her surgery she was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, and during chemotherapy, she celebrated the numbers on the scale going down. “Well, cancer sucks, but I'm a size 12 again!” she’d proclaim to an echo of cheers from friends and relatives.
She wasn’t a perfect person, but she managed to do right by her children despite her struggles to do right by herself. My mother passed away in 2016 and the best of her wisdom and her lessons remain with me today. I pass her self-love down to my child, knowing the seeds of worthiness she sewed into me are now growing in her grandchild. I also pass down the lessons she didn’t mean to teach me about having a smaller body and how it won’t automatically make you happy or healthy.
She taught me the lessons her mother should have taught her but couldn’t. I wish she could have internalized what she taught me, but I recognize how much work it takes to unlearn anti-fatness and how hard it is to be compassionate toward yourself even when you’re compassionate toward others.
I would not be the mother I am if it weren’t for my mom’s fat body, her resilience, and her drive to survive a world that wanted her to believe she was taking up too much space. Her impact on my life and the life of her grandchild will never be forgotten. If I could tell her anything today, it would be, “Thank you for teaching me to be unapologetically myself.” I am in every way a better mom because I had a fat mom.