My Mom wore what she called Fat Dresses. A Fat Dress is better known as a shift, house dress or moo-moo. Just the fact that Mom called them Fat Dresses gave me insight on her perspective and resignation of where she was in life.
See, Mom fought gaining weight all her life. Always dieting. Always counting calories. Not really content with how she looked. She was very contentious about her appearance. She was an attractive woman with a proportioned figure and strikingly beautiful red hair. Even though she lived on a tight budget that did not allow many extra's, Mom knew how to shop and make the most of her dollar. Her closet spoke well of her frugality and an eye for style. She dressed very stylish and looked sharp. It was often about appearances, maybe to cover her lack of self confidence leftover from her childhood.
Mom was the sixth child in a family of seven. Her father had a penchant for drink and often spent his paycheck from the dairy on himself and everyone else at the local tavern on payday. Unless her mother could get there first to intervene and snatch his check. It was tough growing up in those circumstances. Their home sat on a busy corner and was unpainted for many years. It looked very shabby and Mom was ashamed of it. In school, she was put back a year and ended up in the same classes as her youngest brother. She felt she was pegged as being poor and dumb in school. It was a situation that affected her confidence all her life.
My Mom always feared gaining weight like her mother did. In later years, I realized my Dad added pressure on her to not end up like her mother too. My Grandma was the typical jolly, fat lady. But the bottom line was she was unhealthy and morbidly obese. Initially, my Grandma's weight gain was not a result of inactivity. She worked hard at cleaning the theaters in town. She also laundered the heavy one-piece dairy uniform jumpsuits through a ringer washing machine, toted them up the basement stairs to hang them on the clothes line. In later years, Grandma quit those tedious jobs and spent all her waking hours in her living room chair, watching her soaps and doing handiwork with her needle. Grandma struggled to walk when she did get out of her chair. She hobbled out of the room slowly, her knees straining under the load of her heaviness. Her skirt was always shorter in the back than in the front. Too often the grandchildren would snicker to see her long loose underwear peaking out from beneath her dress. This is the image my mother wished to avoid.
But back to Fat Dresses. Mom started losing the battle against weight gain when she was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and put on multiple medications. Her activity level lessened due to pain and discomfort, which contributed to more weight gain. Mom found it increasingly difficult to find a wardrobe that satisfied her criteria of flattering and fitting. She bought the two piece versions of dresses. It gave her more flexibility in hiding her problem areas, even though the skirts usually hiked up in the back. These were the first versions of what she called her Fat Dresses. The two piece ensembles were dressy enough for church. At home, she switched from wearing slacks to wearing the shift, house dress or moo-moo version daily. Subtly over the years, her wardrobe became comprised solely of the casual at home variety of Fat Dresses.
Mom calling them Fat Dresses seemed to mean she had made peace concerning her weight in this stage of her life. The game of dieting to stay thin was over. She was who she was. Being at peace with who you are is harder though when others do not accept that. Like my Dad. I remember well the evening we took Mom for a surprise visit into town to see Dad who was convalescing from a hip replacement. Mom was quite girlish in her excitement to see Dad. It was an extended effort on her part and ours to make the visit. We didn't notice her Fat Dress looked stained and frumpy until we got her out of the car. Too late now to do anything about it. My husband wheeled her in. Dad's joy in seeing Mom did not match her enthusiasm. It dawned on me that he was embarrassed by her appearance. I felt very sad for her as I realized this was not a one time thing. Maybe this was why Dad seldom took Mom out anymore. Perhaps it was not just because it was hard to get her in and out of the car and struggle with the wheelchair. Maybe it was more about her not resembling his trophy wife anymore. She looked more like an elderly bag lady with her faded red hair, no make up or style.
When Mom was transferred to a rehabilitation facility in our area, I was able to evaluate more facets of my parents relationship and consider their individual perspectives and needs. It was obvious my Dad was completely depleted from his loving and dedicated caretaker role of the last ten years. And my Mom's world had completely shrunk to the size of the room she occupied. The few times we were able to take Mom for an outing, her appreciation was almost pitiful. The lady who so loved being on the go was trapped in a body that no longer could keep up the pace. One special outing was dinner at Cracker Barrel with her brother and sister-in-law from Minnesota. It was cold and Mom had no winter coat to put over her summery Fat Dress. We bundled her up in a bulky warm coat of mine. When I looked at Mom that evening, I felt very sad that bad health and aging had taken such a toll on her. I will never forget the image I saw. Mom's limp faded hair framing her puffy face, a bulky black coat that was an opposite season to her colorful summer shift and those clunky diabetic shoes on her feet. Quite an odd fashion statement, especially for my Mom.
I never wore that coat again. I gave it to charity because the memory it evoked was too sad. Not so much because of how I felt about things. But because of how I perceived my Mom and Dad felt about things. My Mom had become the very person she and my Dad had feared she would be. The dissatisfaction they struggled with is a result of basing your values on the external and judging things according to appearance. Mom felt like she had to live up to Dad's expectations and in actuality, her own. It was not about being healthy. It was about how you looked. In my heart of hearts, I know she hated those Fat Dresses. It was the white flag in her life. I think in her mind she felt like she had surrendered and lost the battle. She did not want us to take any pictures of her in her later years. Caring about appearance needs to be balanced with focus on other facets of our personhood.
All my life I have waged my own battle with appearance. I was self conscious about my profile because of my nose. My knees were 'big' because my Mom told me I took after my Dad's side of the family. I thought it was the normal thing to diet and talk about losing weight. My Dad used to say in a joking manner that no fat teenagers were allowed in his house. That didn't really seem funny to me. When I look back on those pictures of when I thought I was fat, I see how much I deceived myself. I was FINE. Not even one sign of being a pound overweight. Yet, I thought I had a weight problem. I think self criticism is often our worst enemy. It causes us to feel dissatisfied with our present state, always wanting what we don't have. It is a root of discontent that takes our focus from what is really the issue.
An important thing to remember is that we are loved for WHO we are. Not what size we are. In reference to my parents, I know they both loved each other very much. It saddens me that they did place so much importance on appearance. Appearance is important but not the basis of defining who we are. I never loved my Grandma or my Mom less because of their weight issues. I loved WHO they were.
I believe the most important focus is to choose to be healthy, no matter the size of your frame, the number on the scales or the age you are. My regret is that I did not take time to make healthier choices when I was a busy mom raising my family. Seemed like other needs were more important than my own. Now life has slowed down and I am more aware of how important those healthy choices were. I am making the choices now but wish I'd started years ago. So unlike my Mom, I will try to keep moving as long as I can. If you don't move it, you lose it. Make the healthier choices, one moment at a time.
