How To: Survive Joan Crawford as a Mother

If you haven't seen Mommy Dearest, this reference is probably lost on you. It's a pretty decent movie - recommend watching it once before you die. It will make you realize your life could be a million times worse.

Scattered through this blog, you'll find stories of the failed relationship my mother and I have attempted to maintain. Part of the blame comes from the lack of time we spent together, I'm sure. However, I feel most blame comes from my mother's strictness and complete lack of humanity towards me.

My parents enjoy holding me up to the best standards of other children and relatives, but never take into consideration their flaws. While I was expected to have the straight A's of my nerdy cousins, I was also expected to be involved in dance like more preppy children and have tons of friends like my popular relatives. After I got home from my lessons and wanted to stay up late for a little relaxation time, this was unacceptable. I was to go straight to bed and wake up in the morning for class, chipper and ready to face the new day.

Throughout high school, people noticed that I was timid or apologetic. I was also shy and refused to talk to a teacher one-on-one until my junior year of high school. Perhaps it was because my parents didn't accept failure. I was yelled at for a straight hour, once, for dropping and breaking a dish. I was once grounded for receiving a C grade on a report card among seven As. Maybe it was because I had to tiptoe around the house for fear of waking up my mother during one of her five hour naps. It really began to wear on my self-confidence.

I've struggled with my weight throughout the years. Take, for example, my run-in with an eating disorder. I'd like to add a new reason for this battle: my mother. I hadn't realized it before tonight, but my mother turned food into some sort of forbidden fruit. There's a comical story about me tucking candy away from Halloween in cans on a shelf in my room. I can remember sneaking the candy and hiding the wrappers around the house so my mother couldn't find them in the garbage can. I, to this day, have to hide any sort of ice cream, cookie, or candy that I bring into this house. If my mother were to find any of these things, she'd yell at me for it.

"You shouldn't be eating all that junk!" she'd say. "You're going to gain even more weight!"

Food has always been connected to comfort for me. When I'm stressed or upset, or sometimes even happy, sweets will bring pleasure every time. They're not highly addictive, you can drive after consuming them, and they don't cause you to make poor judgments. So, the more my mother shamed me and upset me, the more I wanted to eat.

It took me 15 years to realize that this wasn't an okay way to be treated in regards to food. I wouldn't have handled tonight the same way I would have five years ago. It has taken me 15 years to deal with tonight's events without crying.

I entered the kitchen, setting up for some friends visiting, to find my parents discussing something I didn't particularly care about. However, they decided to include me.

"What's a good mixer for scotch?" my father asks the only underage person in the room.

"No clue. Since when do you drink scotch?" I ask, sitting at the table and pulling out my phone to look something up for him.

"My doctor told me I needed to lose weight to get my blood pressure down. He told me to cut back on the whiskey, which has a lot of sugar in it, and drink scotch instead."

"It's funny," I decide, foolishly, to add to the conversation. I should have learned by this point in my life that conversing with parental units only leads to their attempting to shove their beliefs down my throat. "My doctors notice that I've gained weight, but they can't figure out why my blood pressure remains on the floor. It's the strangest thing."

"I was the same way, you know" my father begins. "But it won't be that way forever. You need to lose weight." I sigh and continue searching for a cocktail, deciding not to say anything in return. This would only end in an argument.

"Exactly how much weight have you gained" My mother more demands than asks.

"I don't know" I spit, already seeing the route this discussion has taken.

"You know, you might be skinny now, but a few years down the road when you have children and hit menopause, you're going to gain weight. You need to start trying to lose it now."

"Look, I've decided I'm done dieting". I tell them both, trying my hardest to keep myself at the table and not "storm off" as I usually do.

"We're both overweight" my father informs me. "I've made attempts to get my weight down because I want to live. You should to". Disgusted, I rise to my feet.

"If a cookie is what makes me happy, I'm going to eat a cookie. I'd rather be fat and happy than skinny and miserable" I managed to prevent myself from finishing my line with "like you". "Scotch and dry vermouth" I tell my father before walking out.

My BMI would say I'm overweight, but I happen to have some melons on me that add a good few pounds. I battled with my body image the large majority of my life, mostly because of conversations like this one. My mother wouldn't hesitate to tell me when I looked like I was putting on a few pounds. With all the body hate the media is forcing onto women and men alike,  your parents should be the last people on earth telling you that you should conform to the standards the modeling industry has impressed upon us all. They should be your greatest allies. If they ever tell you otherwise, kindly inform them that they should forcibly insert their thoughts into their anus.

On second thought...Don't do that if you still live with them. It's usually best to wait to use this language until after you have the means to survive on your own. Regardless, you get the point!

I have been told that I am an attractive person. I currently wear a size 13 pair of jeans and I am still getting asked out on dates by guys. Hell, I've even had a few girls ask me out. Your weight is not what makes you pretty - it's your confidence. Screw those anorexic models on magazine covers. Ever notice that they kind of look like aliens? Guys do too. It's not attractive to wake up next to a skeleton in the morning. It's downright frightening.

Never feel embarrassed about what goes into your mouth. If that's what you want to eat, and you're not threatening your life with it, more power to you! If losing weight is what you think will make you feel good, then try that too! All the more power to you! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have a damn cookie. Maybe I'll even dunk it in some milk. Even better, I might smother it in peanut butter. And, if my mother has anything to say about it, I'll be sure to tell her she should have a cookie too. Maybe, if I'm lucky, she'll choke on it.