Because My Mom is Beautiful...

My mother is a remarkable human being. She loves her children with an intensity I am not sure I will ever fully comprehend until I have children of my own. She is our cheerleader and supporter, our counselor and friend, and when necessary the iron fist (though now that her three children are all 20+, not so much).

When I think back to my childhood, I can't remember my mother getting sick. Of course she must have gotten sick at least a couple of times along the way. With three children serving as carrier monkeys, there is no way she could have avoided all our cooties, but what is interesting is that I can't ever remember her being ill, ever. It's weird.

As I enter adulthood, I have begun to see more and more the humanity of my mother. Through the eyes of a child, she was a super-hero, with no task too big (or too small), nothing out of her reach, she could do it all. When she was my age, she had a toddler and one cooking in the oven. I can only imagine the immense pressure she must have felt, not only was she going through the same "finding yourself" crap that I am currently experiencing, but she was raising children as well and balancing a full time job, a marriage, crazy parents, the recent death of a sibling, good GOD! How did she do it? With grace, humility, perseverance, unabated optimism, and a love that runs incredibly deep. I am brought close to tears at the thought of how fortunate I am to have her as a mother.

We were talking the other night, sharing our exercising/weight struggles with each other. She was sharing about the trainer she recently hired, and telling me how much weight she had lost. I was telling her how I was a victim of three digit syndrome, that despite what I know to be muscle weight because my clothes are looser than they were, I am still pissed to have gained three pounds. (I know, whoop dee, three stinkin' pounds, I freely admit that it is entirely psychological) The conversation was mostly positive, but then my mom said something that really got to me. It kind of made me mad. She was talking about where she started, prior to trainers and early-morning cardio sessions, and she called herself a "cow". It was said in a joking fashion, and she softened it by inserting it into the following sentence, "I have only lost ____lbs. but my trainer said it was all definitely fat because I wasn't really in need of a trainer to begin with. I felt like such a cow before." I didn't voice my reaction, but I got mad at her. How dare she call my mom a cow, the woman who for my entire life I have thought to be the most beautiful woman I know. How dare she! No one messes with my momma, not even my momma.

It suddenly occurred to me how hurtful we are to ourselves. I felt the sting of her words because I love my mom and I know her beauty runs so much deeper than the skin covering her bones. We get so used to calling ourselves names, to picking apart our appearance, finding flaws, imperfections, things that could be better, worked on, improved.... we forget that these thoughts and words are hurtful. My mom would never call another woman a cow. I would never tell my friend or a woman on the street, "You know, your thighs are really disproportionate to the rest of your body, you might want to work on that." What makes it ok to say these things about ourselves? Why do we not see our bodies as magnificent? Yes, keep it healthy, take care of it, exercise it, feed it, and then love it. Love it like you love a friend, with forgiveness and support, encouragement and caring words. My body is the only one I have. And it is never going to change. I am never going to be able to trade in my thighs for a different pair, but no one on this earth has a pair that would fit me better. They are mine, they are strong, and from now on, I am going to treat them with the respect they deserve.

So this is for my mother, who is, in a word, incredible. I love you because you inspire me with your wisdom. I love you because you make lame puns that I think are hilarious. I love you because you LIVE your life, accepting its ups and downs with a grace I will forever strive to attain. I love you because you have shown me what love looks like, that it is not perfect or neat or easy, but essential, and all that there really is. I love you because even though I was born five weeks early and blue as the sky, your body made me strong enough to pull through. I love you because even though you may become irrational at times, you come around in the end. I love you because you taught me how to be my own person by supporting all my goofy endeavors. I love you because you are my mom, not because you weigh what you did at 18. I understand now what you meant when you said, "Stop beating up my kid." I know what you felt when I knocked myself down, you felt pain, just like I did, when you knocked yourself down. So from here on out, I will, I'll stop beating up your kid, as long as you stop beating up my mom.