FatGirl vs World

Yes, I know it's been a long time since I've blogged (June 2017 to be exact).  I have been stuck in the same feedback loop of injury, recovery, [bonus obstacle!], injury, recovery.  Reporting back and forth on that cycle doesn't seem very exciting.  But a big THANK YOU to everyone who has kept be buoyed up during my rough patches over the past 2 years.  I can only hope to return the kindness one day.

Left Coast:  In the beginning of December, I traveled to San Francisco for the first time.  It's super gorgeous there.

I still have the heel spur reduction/plantar fasciotomy on my right foot to look forward to (the last surgery was for my left foot).  Doctor and I had hoped to do both in quick succession, but the nerves in my foot had other plans.

Right Coast:  Towards the end of December, I visited Dad in NY.

Got this amazing photo of him looking out on the Narrows.  Had a lot of long talks and good times.  But (without going into too much detail) it's a reminder that sometimes when I'm going through a lot in my own life, that it's easier for me to focus on other people.

I hate using trite analogies -- but I need to put my oxygen mask on first.  It's not an "in case of a decrease in cabin pressure" type of situation; a "you're of more help to others if you help yourself first" thing:  my situation is more of a "girl, you are running on fumes, it's okay to take some air for yourself" kind of thing.

I'm good at taking care of myself in some ways ("adulting") and terrible at actually enjoying myself.  I find that my life is swinging from crisis to crisis. I need a better mode of travel through life. eh?

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In other news....

There really should be water in the glass. Sorry dairy lobby.

It's about time I got to talking about diet.  I've already written about my thoughts about the other parts of the puzzle:  1/5:  The Foundation and 1/5:  Exercise.  Just to refresh, I firmly believe that wrapping your head around being healthy can be split into a pie with 5 wedges and distributed as such: 

The other day, a Twitter friend shared a photo of a family vacation.  She was an adult and was still going on vacations with her parents and siblings.  This made me sad. I really don't know how this blog post will come out, but I'm going to try to speak from the heart, not edit myself, and hope for the best.

Somewhere between my mom being an agoraphobic with panic attacks and my dad's work, we didn't go on many family trips when I was growing up.  Our big vacation was driving to Hilton Head, South Carolina when I was 11 or 12.  Most of our other vacations were weekend trips upstate, going to the beach, genealogy excursions to cemeteries, or family-related.  After mom died, we went on one vacation -- a week of camping at the beach with my extended family that was fairly disastrous thanks to a thunderstorm.

I'm not writing this to complain about not going on fancy or expensive trips as a kid, or complain that I've never been to Disney.  As an adult, I've gone to some amazing places and plan on going to more (4 words:  Costa Rican Sloth Sanctuary).  This, along with the upcoming holiday season, just made me think about the many fractures in my family.

Both of my parents had one of their parents die when they were young (my dad's mother, my mother's father).  Because of this, I don't think either of them had normal childhoods.  I don't think either of them grew up going on family vacations (my mom's father was in the Army, I don't think that relocating counts as a vacation). My paternal grandfather remarried and had more kids (so there are 4 from my paternal grandmother, 3 from my paternal step-grandmother for a total of 7 kids).  There was always tension in their family partly because of this.  My maternal grandmother didn't remarry or have more kids (my mom was an only child, and Nana never let her live this down).  She died when I was 8, but my mother's cousins filled in the void.

There was a main nucleus on each side:  my mother's cousin (by marriage) Sandie (who had a blended family as well) and my step-grandmother, Janet.  Because we all lived in the same little town, my grandparents and my mom's cousins knew each other and got along.  My aunts and uncles even went to school with my mom's cousins.  After my mom died, I didn't see my mother's side of the family as often because my dad gravitated towards gatherings on his side of the family.  After Janet was diagnosed with Alzheimer's (and as my cousins grew older and had families of their own) and after my grandpa died, that side of my family seemed to have lost some of the gravity that held us together.

We used to have ginormous family events at my paternal grandparents' house -- you know, the kind where every table and chair in the house was used so that we could all eat together.  There would be nearly 30 people eating together and almost nearly that amount of desserts.  We'd play basketball together before dinner and Trivial Pursuit after. As it turned dark and if it was still warm enough, the kids would play manhunt in my grandparents' backyard and the neighborhood.    These are some of my most treasured memories of my family mainly because I was blissfully unaware of many of the tensions and pain that ran deep on that side of the family.

As I got older, went away to college, and moved 250 miles from my whole family, I noticed that I became somewhat of the black sheep of my dad's side of the family.  My father wasn't the best at keeping me in the loop in regards to family events (people would invite him to things and assume that I got the message -- and I did, but usually with too little notice to do anything or after the fact).  As the years went by, I just felt further and further from my dad's side of the family because of the distance and because nothing and no one reeled me in when I was adrift (and I didn't seek it out for myself).  (Though, this is not beyond the point of repair. And there are times when I think moving back to NYC would help with reconnecting.)

Just as that was happening, I started reconnecting with my mother's side of the family.  They told me stories about my mother and helped me keep her memory alive.  I felt a very strong bond with them because of this. Sandie and her husband Joe also have one of the strongest marriages that I've ever seen.  I'm always in awe of the love they have for each other and how it translated into the relationships that their kids have with each other and with their own little families.  I feel the gravity from them, holding me close.

Within my own little family (my dad, my brother and I), it was never easy.  My mother was one part nucleus, one part puppet master, and one part cruise director. While she was alive, it felt like there was a shift between the daily life of mom, John, and I and then the time we had when dad was around.  At night, we either didn't see him or we got the message that dad was too tired or stressed from work and that we shouldn't bother him.  On weekends, mom always had projects for him to do, and we shouldn't bother him. John would go off and play with his friends and I'd be stuck at home helping.

It was only after she died that we were able to untangle some of the strings she used.  It was a huge revelation when my father told me that he didn't want the role of enforcer/punisher, but that mom had pushed him into it.  I think it was a big revelation for my dad to realize how my mom exaggerated stories about bad behavior, neglecting to tell my dad some of ways she drove wedges between my brother and I, or how she would often belittle us.

But the damage was done, and we took no time to repair it (i.e, no family therapy).  I was 13. My brother was 14.  My dad had a full time job and 2-hour commute each way.  The goal was to survive.  We did survive, but it was far from perfect.  The wedges that my mom drove between all of us remained, and continued to push us away from each other.  I didn't trust my dad to be the confidant and protector that I needed. Dad and I used to get into the worst fights because I felt like I was doing all the housework and my brother was doing none of it. I think my brother resented me asking for the help, that I was trying to control him.

I think my father is thankful that my brother and I were good kids -- we did our homework (usually), got good grades (always), didn't get into trouble, didn't become hooligans, and managed to get into good colleges.  But the truth of it is that when my mom died, my brother and I stopped being carefree kids. And what makes me the most sad out of anything is that we stopped being siblings.

My brother and I not only shared our parents' DNA, we also shared the common experience of growing up together and experiencing many of the same traumas as each other (unlike my brother, I didn't take a line-drive to the nose).  And instead of that uniting us, it really drove us apart.  I feel a pang of jealousy and hurt when friends talk about their close relationships with their siblings.

In more recent times, my brother has had his wife (and her family) and his kids to focus on.  But even when they were just dating, I feel like my brother treated his future in-laws with more care and respect than my dad and I.  He preferred the shiny new thing to the thing that was broken and needed repair.  That sometimes left Dad and I alone to shoot the shit together.  Quite often dad and I end up talking about the past.  But it's hard for me to say what I always want to say because I know they hurt (not because they're arrows pointed at anyone, but because they are surface wounds).  Things weren't perfect back then and we were all hurting in our own ways.  But I regret that we didn't have family therapy.  I regret that we let this terrible thing push us apart instead of bringing us together.

So holidays are always sad times for me because I feel not only estranged from the family (extended and nuclear) that I was born into, but also because I've yet to create one for myself (see previous blog post).

In the last post, I alluded to the book that I'm reading, by Doug Newburg(that he so graciously shared with me): The Most Important Lesson No One Ever Taught Me.  He asks of the people he works with these 5 deceptively simple questions:

1. How do you want to feel everyday or about your life in general?
2. When, where, and around whom do those feelings happen?
3. What gets in the way of those feelings or takes them away?
4. How do you get those feelings back?
5. What are you willing to work for? 

One of my favorite Sesame Street skits was Grover/Frank Oz's "Near & Far" -- where he demonstrated the meanings of near and far.  You were either one or the other.  There was measurable difference between the two things.  By the end of the skit, Grover is exasperated from having to repeat himself so many times.  I don't know why, but I just thought it was so silly.

It wasn't until I got older that I realized that some things can be both near AND far -- just like the title, and not near OR far.  Sometimes perspective collaborates with our minds to play tricks on us.

This past Saturday marked 20 years since my mother passed away on September 27, 1994 (see "I'm a sensitive soul, though I seem thick skinned"). I spent the week leading up to it in NYC with dad. (I also got to see some friends while I was there too.)  So many times, I am struck by how vivid and tangible that period in my life feels (I carry it with me everywhere I go), and at other times, it seems so distant (and I'm able to set aside the burden of some of those memories).

That morning, my dad went to church, then we went to my mom's grave.  My dad placed red roses in the vase; I cleaned up her headstone and put a few roses and a stone on top.  I had asked dad if we could then go to Robert Moses Beach (a place where I felt especially connected to mom) so I could honor the day in my own way. 

It wasn't until I was texting with my brother driving to the beach from the cemetery that I started getting emotional.  I thought about how my niece and nephew would never get to know my mom, or that mom would never get to know her grandchildren.  (People often say to me "mom is looking down on them from heaven" -- but that's not what I believe at all.  I find zero comfort in that.)  I thought about what dating would have been like with mom around (I have a sneaking suspicion that mom would have flirted with my suitors).  I thought about not having mom there with me if I ever gave birth (She may have just given the doctor the heave-ho so she could be the first to hold her grandchild).  Then I realized how I'm sad about things thing may or may not come to pass.  Then I wondered if I've been subconsciously avoiding or sabotaging myself because I fear losing those things as well.

Dad didn't follow my advice in picking the easternmost beach.  He kept driving further west.  He then parked the car and we walked for a while along the beach.  We had hoped that since it was the end of September that it would have been empty, but it was an unseasonably warm day and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.  Eventually we found a place where people weren't swimming as much (right near the traditionally clothing-optional area), and I committed to the ocean the remainder of the dozen light pink, light purple, and white roses.

Later, dad and I agreed that maybe it wasn't the best thought out plan, as the ocean decided to take some and brought the others back to the shore.  Though it may seem inappropriate on such a solemn occasion, I couldn't help but laugh.  I think mom would have thought it was funny as well.

Two women down the shore picked up the roses and I let them know what I was trying to do.  They understood (and one of them had also recently commemorated 20 years since her own mother passed) and gave me hugs.  One of them said, "Maybe this is just a reminder to let life come back to you."

Touché.

I remember my first Fitbloggin as if it was yesterday.  I also remember how much I cried from start (meeting Carver as I got out of the cab) to finish (having to say goodbye to everyone).

I managed to survive Fitbloggin 2014 without shedding too many tears, that is until I met 1972 Olympian Jeff Galloway.  Now keep in mind, as someone that doesn't really run, I had no idea who Jeff was until about 5 minutes before he walked in the room.  But after a quick Wikipedia search, I realized he was just the man I needed to talk to.

He came to Fitbloggin as a part of the Run Disney sponsorship of the conference.  Before our 1 mi walk/5k/10k, he talked about how we, as bloggers, are able to change lives and inspire greatness in others.  He talked about how exercise adds life and vitality to our years.  He talked about how fitness is a family value.

I walked the first half of the 5k ((**waves to walking group!**)) and then somewhere around the midpoint, after being in my head for a while, something in my mind decided that despite the pain I was in (urgh my back!), that I couldn't miss the opportunity to speak with Jeff Galloway (who ran the 10k, I think).  I began to jog for the first time since February.

First of all -- he's the NICEST person, EVER.  He took the time to chat with everyone who wanted his time.  Not only that, he was interested in what they were doing in their lives, in their families, in their communities. Yet, despite being the nicest person, he's the only person to make me flat-out cry at Fitbloggin 2014.

How?  I told him how what he said about being able to change lives really struck me, but that it's all for nothing if we can't help to inspire and change the lives of the people we love the most.  Then he asked me who I loved the most.  And I started bawling.  Through the tears I asked if he would speak to the person that I love the most -- the person that I want to live a long and healthy life, the person that I worry the most about:   my dad.


Dad:  I'm not trying to embarrass you, or call you out.  I just want you to try.  I just want you to live a long and healthy life. I want you to want that as well.  And I hope you know that you have my full support.  And if I know my readers the way I think I do, I think you'll find they will support you too.  Dad, give me a reason to show you that I'm your biggest fan and cheerleader.

My mom had back issues as well.  

People always ask me, "I'm just getting into exercising.  Where should I start?" when it comes to weight loss/health gain.  Sometimes I give a bit of a serious answer—that you need to have a strong foundation, or that you need to have the mental epiphany first—but when it comes to moving your body, I have one answer:  Start with the Joy.

This past weekend, I had an occasion to reiterate that point to my dad.  Dad was coming down to DC (from NY) to visit for the weekend. I told him to bring workout clothing.  My hope was that the hotel had a gym and I could have him show me what he learned in physical therapy and what he could do.  Alas, the hotel didn't have a workout facility (it is a boutique hotel).

Since it was such a GORGEOUS day on Saturday, I figured that we'd make the best of the situation and go for a walk and have a little talk.  As often people are when they're met with something outside his or her comfort zone, Dad was a little testy with me to honor his limits.  I reassured him that I wasn't going to kill him (there goes my plans for 30 seconds of light jogging here and there!).  I wasn't going to go easy on him either.

We went through some of the historic and commercial areas of Georgetown and down by the waterfront.
As dad looked out on the water, he got excited to see a
1-man rowing scull. His eyes got big and he started smiling as he described his time in college on an 8-man rowing team.

We walked down to Key Bridge Boat House (formerly Jack's Boat House), but they only rented out kayaks, canoes, and stand-up paddle boards.  I pointed all the way across to the other side of Georgetown at Thompson Boat Center and told dad that I bet that's where the sculls were being launched and I was right.  Not only were they launching them from there (2 colleges and a bunch of other schools), but you can rent 1 and 2-person sculls by the hour.

However, because it's not as intuitive as kayaking or canoeing, you have to be certified -- which means either taking a beginner's class or being evaluated by an instructor (for someone that hasn't sculled in a few years).

Getting out on the water with Dad is probably not going to happen this year, but the first classes of spring are in late April/early May of 2014.  That give Dad around 8 months to get in shape.  We made a deal right there.  I decided to buy dad a hat to mark the occasion (and because it was recently his birthday) and remind him of the excitement he felt.

When purchasing the hat, I thanked the manager for giving my dad something to be enthusiastic about.  He then asked me if I wanted an oar.  Dad thought he was selling me the oar, but he was giving me the oar.  Yet another memento, something to hang on the wall as a reminder of what is to come.

Later that day, we visited with my brother, sister-in-law, and my niece and Dad recounted this story only to find out that my SIL rowed in college as well.  Oh, and by the way, I spent my 29th birthday kayaking, and have kayaked in the Carribean.  My brother and SIL have gone kayaking a few times as well.

Dad thought he surprised us by telling his tales of rowing past, but I think the bigger surprise was that Dad found out that he wouldn't be the only one out there in the water.  (ahem, bigger lesson there along the lines of "you are not alone" and that there's always someone willing to travel part of the journey with you)

My brother and I on my 29th birthday (2010).

So the moral of the story is this:  when you're first trying to change how you view exercise, start with what excites you and brings you joy.  You're more likely to have a positive experience, more likely to want to get better at doing it, and you're more likely to stick with it in the long run.  The mind-fake (i.e., the lesson you learn by accident) is that exercise is not punishment.  It's a celebration of what your body can do.

In Part I of Discovering Dad, my very awesome and forthcoming dad talked about his childhood and the attitudes about health that he learned from his parents.  He candidly spoke about his own weight issues and how it affected his own view of himself.  Part II is a little bit more about my dad as head of the household and family man. 



A9:  When did I ever educate you about health or food (other than making mountains of pancakes, slabs of meat, potatoes, dessert)?!?  When you got heavier, as I was heavier, I failed to see and get us running or exercising, or going together to the gym or anything positive. I recognize that I was a poor role model and I wonder if my depression rubbed off onto you.

Q9.1: I remember you once signed us up for Gold’s Gym, perhaps when I was 16. Why did we stop going?

A9.1:  Knowing me I probably came up with a hundred excuses.  When we signed up for the family membership, that came with one "free" training session -- I got a artificially-muscled steroidal freak who started me off on weights that were far too heavy.  He didn't address the needs and limitations of my own body.  Schedule was also a big excuse too.  I commuted over two hours each way for work, and I would come home at the end of the day tired.  Changing out of my suit into gym clothing was just too much to ask some days.

Q10: Now that we're both adults trying to get our weight in check, do you think it's important that we are good role models and inspirations for each other as well as the rest of our family?

A10:  It would be important if I BECAME a GOOD role model for you. YOU have ALREADY BECOME a good role model for yourself, despite me.

Q11: I've tried to keep this interview brief, but is there anything else you'd like to talk about?

A11: Just an overview, to wit:

My life has been one with a lot of pain and sorrow and loss, and my childhood was not a happy one. Many issues continued into adulthood, and new issues arose. Clearly, I have had an unhealthy relation to food and and other consumables which were bad for me. Couple that with smoking and I have not taken care of myself.  Some people have an innate sense of themselves and take pride and thus make the effort in their health and their appearance. In the course my life, I can not be so categorized thus far. But I want this to be otherwise henceforth.

Dad -- I love you very much too :)

A1: As a kid, I never learned about exercise, and nobody knew about nutrition in the 1950s. We were taught to eat everything on our plate. We were told to think about the starving children in China; left overs were a moral obligation to finish. I was 40 pounds as a 1-year-old. My parents would feed me to stop from crying that first year. I then slimmed out. I ran through neighborhood often, climbed all trees available, and from 4 to 5 was the Peter Pan, ruler and leader of the neighborhood kids. I was tall, trim, outgoing, confident, self-assured and active until the summer my mother died, two months short of my eighth birthday. From age 8 to 12, I just ballooned up in weight, lost confidence and really became a different person to that happy kid I had been before my mother’s death. We had conflicting influences, various housekeepers and even sometimes we were left on our own. I don’t remember food being solace during that time. However, there was no overall approach to a healthy regimen of food and exercise and there was, for me, a great deal of sorrow and trauma.

Q1.1: Do you think the “clean plate” mentality your parents had was a result of them living through the Great Depression, or was it some other reason?

A1.1: Not the Depression, it was more a left over from the Victorian Era. I also think that for my parents’ generation slimness was akin to sickliness for some. My mother was as slim as a rail due to her heart defect, and plump cherubs for children indicated in some way that they were healthy.


Q3: I've seen pictures of you as a young man, and you were quite dapper and thin. When did you notice that you were gaining weight? Do you know why you were gaining weight?

A3: Luckily, I hit a growth spurt that allowed me to be 6’2” and 175 at 18-years-old at graduation. I looked good then. Then I gained weight in the novitiate. We had sports, and exercise, but also a lot of other influences. At college I was between 215 and 235, and stayed in that range, mostly till third year of law school between age 28 and 29. Law school was sedentary, driving a cab was sedentary. Eating deli on the run was not helpful either. Thus, I got heavier. From 17 to 29, the lightest I ever was was 185 when I was in Boston. The heaviest was 280-290 when I got married. Since then the lowest I was was 238 in the late 80s. I was 250 when I tore my left ACL in 2008. That injury contributed to going up tp my current weight. But eating out, eating deli, not exercising and unhealthy eating also are huge factors.

Q4: You once said to me that you tried running once, but wasn't enamored because you didn't experience a "runner's high" -- what were you expecting?

A4: Let me rephrase the question. I had to run at times in gym, I also tried to be on track team at some point. Running always was painful in the legs, chest and abdomen and I never experienced a runner’s high, as in the endorphins. I was not instructed on the right way to train, nor did I have anyone to tell what to expect, how to work through it, or anything like that. An example, the track coach put me in a relay once, had to sprint 220 yards, did miserably. All he did was look at me disdainfully. Years later, remembering I said in my mind the rejoinder I should have said then: “don’t look at me like that, teach me.”

A5: The emotional ups and downs of my formative years left me feeling all over the place, without any understanding of myself, my weight, my health. I never had a sense of pride about my body, and not even any perception regarding same. I once did a low fat regime and stuck with it for a good while. I have tried other things with varying degrees of failure, even Weight Watchers.

I posted the above on New Year's day.  I saw people posting on Twitter and Facebook their disdain for "Resolutionaries" -- people that join gyms at the beginning of the year and take up time/space on the machines and in classes.   Ever think that you were once that person?  It might not have been a new year's resolution, but someone might've looked at you and wondered what the cat dragged in.  Someone might have considered YOU to be the one out of place and not belonging in the gym.

But you're not a scared neophyte anymore, are you?  You know how to use the machines.  You let people "work in," you wipe down your equipment, you figure out how to make space in a crowded class for one more person.  You've realized that we're in this together--that when one person succeeds, we all benefit. 

I just want to take this moment to remind my readers of The New Rules and Rule No. 1 (no, it's not "No one talks about fight club):  leave no one behind.  If someone works up the courage to make it to the gym, or to ask you how you've achieved success, don't you feel like it should be your duty to help them?  Even if it's just 5 minutes of your time, I feel you should honor the trust that they've placed in you as someone they feel they can learn from or be inspired by. 

It pleases me to no end that I'm getting emails and text messages from my dad telling me that he's bought a Vitamix (the heavy duty blender that make Starbucks Frappes or Jamba Juices) and a Breville Juicer, that he's gone to the grocery store and has picked up fresh produce to play with, that he's trying out recipies and beginning to tweak them (for instance making a Manhattan clam chowder-inspired soup with sauteed calimari instead of a cream-heavy bisque).  I'm trying to show my support by including juices in my diet as well (today I'm drinking a spinach, blueberry, mango, celery, ginger juice), and sharing the ones that taste good (fresh ginger does amazing things).


Dad had to come to the epiphany in his own time and in his own way.  But now that he's there, I'm so proud to support him on his quest to be a healthy role model for his whole family, on his journey towards living a long life, and on the healing path for his body. 

Growing up, I always heard from Dad's coworkers that he's always saying how proud he is of his kids.  I'm glad that now I get to return the favor and say how proud I am of him.

Keep up the good work, Daddoo :)

So...my grandpa died on July 26.  He was 85 years old.
To a certain extent, this was expected as his health was in decline.
The last time we spoke a month prior (at my cousin's wedding), he told me to "take care of [my] father" -- which I viewed as him issuing his final directive for how he wanted us to love each other.  I've taken this directive to heart. 

As I stood by his open casket at the last of the three wakes (as it had taken that long to summoned forth what I wanted to say to him that would put a bow on a lifetime of memories) I said an emphatic "Thank you.  *sniff* Thank you.  *sniff* Thank you.  *sob*"  As the patriarch of my family, and as my last living grandparent, I just wanted to thank him for giving me my family, the greatest wealth I have in this world.  I also told him that as the champion of my love life (it was a frequent topic of our conversation) that I'd rely on him to send Mr. Right my way.

In the two weeks since my grandpa's death, the directive of "take care of your father" has caused me great anxiety and stress.  Having my mother die when I was young was traumatic in its own right, but one of the lasting results was the fear of my father dying prematurely because of his lifestyle (stressful job, bad diet, no exercise, etc.).

One thing you've all heard me say time and time again is that you can't force someone to care about themselves.  I know this first hand -- with myself and with others.  People have to come to the Epiphany in their own time and on their own terms.  You can be there to support and inform them, but the impetus has to begin within the person.

The weight of the stress/anxiety about my dad's health and well-being was taking its toll on me.  It dragged down my spirits, caused a bit of nausea, and people could see it.  All of this sadness was not a good prelude to my birthday.  My friends and coworkers could see that I was troubled.  Buddhists believe that suffering is caused by our desire to control (situations, outcomes, people).  Was I trying to control my father?   Ultimately no.  So then what?

On Tuesday, my father called me to wish me a happy birthday on the eve of my 31st birthday.  I took the call as a sign that it was time to share with him what it was that I truly wanted for my birthday:  I wanted my dad to live a long and healthy life, and I didn't want to have to worry about him. 

Turns out it had been on his mind too.

I try not to be expressly didactic in my blog, rather trying to model what I think is healthy outlook on life by relaying anecdotes about my own life. But in this case, I'm really going to spell it out:  tell the people you love that you love them and want them to love themselves.  Asking someone to change for our own benefit is shallow and wrong, but telling someone that you want them to look at themselves with the love you have for them is courageous and generous of heart. 

I want my dad to live a long life. I want him to do cartwheels down the aisle when I get married. I want him to see his grandkids grow up.   I said nothing about how many calories he should eat, or the kind of exercise he should be doing.  I tried not to harp about the negative behaviors.  My focus was on relaying the fact that I value our relationship and would hate to see that relationship come to a premature end because of how he treats his own body.

So with that one conversation, the gloomy clouds that had  been hovering above me dissipated.  While I was still very hush hush about my birthday because I'm still in a bit of aftershock/mourning, I know that my birthday wish is now out there in the universe.

(Article 1) (Article 2) (Article 3) (Article 4) (Article 5) (Article 6) (Article 7) (Article 8) (Article 9) 
Now, in the back of your mind, juxtapose this article with all of the Maury Povich episodes that featured obese toddlers with parents that said they had no control over what their kids eat, that they wanted to give their kids what they didn't have growing up, and that they were showing love by indulging/giving in to their child's demands.

In response, I want to focus on what I think the dialogue should be:   If a parent is, or learns to be, (mentally, physiologically, emotionally) healthy themselves, the greater the chance that they will be able to raise a healthy child, and have a healthy relationship with that child.  It's not perfect, and it's no guarantee, but I do believe it increases the probability of having a healthy kid.

Parents should be able to say "I have a problem with food/body image, and I needed to help myself so I can help my kids."  And they should have the resources (education, counseling, support groups) available to help make healthy and considered decisions for their kids.  Instead, I think we see some people having kids either before they've dealt with their own issues, or having kids as a way to work out their own issues.

Being a parent is not a right, it is a privilege that comes with responsibilities.  Among these responsibilities is making sure that your child is healthy.  I think the phrase putting your child "on a diet" sounds more pejorative than saying you're paying attention to and regulating your child's nutrition and health.  It's a semantic difference--between depriving them (of crappy food that has been making them sick) and giving them a life (full of emotional, physical, and psychological well-being).

If you've been following my blog, you know that I've talked about the issues my parents had regarding food and self image.  And hopefully you also know that, more than anything, I wish that their parents had done a better job of taking care of my parents.  But like Jack Kornfield says, "Forgiveness means giving up all hope of a better past."  I can't change those things, but I can do my best to understand and contextualize things.  I can also break the cycle.

That being said, as a child who had two parents with their own demons, I wish someone (a doctor, a relative, a teacher) had stepped in and said "do you realize your daughter has a weight problem?"  I wouldn't have wanted them to write about it in an international magazine, but I would have greatly appreciated them recognizing they were out of their depth and needed help. 

So that leaves me with a few questions: 
(1)   How are parents responsible for regulating what their kids eats?
(2)   Should parents openly talk with a child about the child's weight, nutrition, health?
(3)   Should the dialogue with a child be more focused about weight or health?
(4)   When should a parent be concerned about a child's weight?