My mom is 83yrs. She can no longer live by herself. I do home daycare so it was easy to move her in with my family. I am one of 5 children. My siblings cant or don't choose to have her with them. I am overweight but, not alot and others love me as I am.
There is a sweet scene in Fiddler on the Roof where a husband and wife have an exchange of questions, pondering their 25 years together. The husband asks his wife, "But, do you love me"? The wife lists all the tasks she has done, all the shared memories, but does not come out and say she does. They are reflecting on their marriage--an arranged marriage--but after considering all they have been through, they conclude that they love each other. It is bittersweet.
That is what came into my mind when I read your post. There are many hurts in family relationships, and the weight thing is one of them. I understand it well.
I think the best reply from you the next time your Mother mentions your weight is, "Yes, Mother, but do you Love Me'? It could diffuse the feelings and help you both get in touch with your relationship. Maybe it will help you understand her better.
All the best to you, Dear One.
Has your Mom always called you fat? Or is this new. In my personal experience, I think there is some concern about health and some, "how does this affect me", when people are so concerned with a loved one's weight. Maybe it is just bullying.
I have shed 25 pounds since Thanksgiving. Not because of my hubby or daughter but because my cholestrol was 320!!!! That got me motivated. Got 30 more to go and I will be good. But I didn't want any advice from the hubby or daughter. No one likes that.
If you are healthy, do what you want for yourself and let Mom know if she doesn't like the "view", it can be changed.
"Mother, I'm comfortable with my weight. I'm sorry you are not. Since we don't agree, let's just not discuss this topic any more."
"Yup. I'm overweight. I'm also shorter than I'd like to be. I'm a good tennis player. I'm fantasic with house plants. I'm patient with my invalid mother. I'm poor at math. I'm great at finding bargains. I have a corn on the side of my big toe. I tend to get constipated if I eat a lot of cheese. I'm a so-so cook. I'm a diligent but bored housekeeper. I'm an awesome cribbage player but I can't get interested in bridge. I've been coloring my hair for eleven years. I'm not squeamish about injuries. I'm frightened of spiders and mice. I'm a loyal friend. I'm extremely good with very young children. I get heartburn lots of times when I eat pizza. I've never had problems with my blood pressure. I .... (and on and on and on about what else "I am" besides fat.)
"Fat? Nah ... I'm pleasingly plump."
"Yup. I'm fat. You're rude for bringing it up. I guess nobody is perfect so let's try to accept each other, warts and all."
"Mother. I'm beginning to worry about you. You've told me this same thing, which I already know, at least 4 times this week. Perhaps we should have you evaluated for memory loss."
"Here's the deal. You live with me, you take me the way I am. If I'm not acceptable, I'll help you find some other living arrangement. I can't promise you won't have to deal with other people who don't meet your standards, though."
"You know, Mother, what you call fat others see as a great lap for my daycare clients. It's an occupational advantage!"