God Is a Woman

My mother was ninety pounds when she got married. She could have been a model by American standards, but my mother was not an American. She was, is, and always will be a Jamaican and by Jamaican standards, she was "mawga" or meager.

When she got pregnant with my older brother, she was excited to finally fill out the body that she always felt was too frail. However, pregnancy does not last forever, and the weight slipped off her like the water running down Dunn's River Falls. How did she compensate? She ate. Whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased.

Fast food is not hard to come by when you are living in the ghetto of Miami. My mom was in a strange new land, with a newborn baby, in a body she had always felt discontent in and food was her comfort. She gave birth to my sister and again, the weight refused to stick. Seven years passed and now, it was my turn. An aging metabolism allowed some to stick, but at this point, the disordered eating had gone too far.

My parents both worked tirelessly, so that we could leave the ghetto and enter a new land called "The Suburbs". Despite their accomplishments, I grew up feeling alone and anxious, so I did the only thing I knew would bring me comfort. I ate. My reward for completing chores, finishing a soccer game, or simply existing was always ice cream. My grandmother would sneak me several cheeky scoops to entertain me, while my parents were at work.

When my mom arrived home, I received a small squeeze as she proceeded with her routine of eating and attempting to sleep as I attempted to pry her eyes open for attention.

I know, you are tired, but please notice me.

By the time I was ten years old, my mom and I had the same robust belly. I was ashamed, not only because my body looked nothing like the dainty ones around me, but also because my mother was ashamed of hers, as well. She was finally on the other side of the pendulum but assimilating to American culture now made her dissatisfied. The next few years I would witness a series of what I like to call "Diets of Desperation" comprised of seafood, restriction, and magical pills. Nothing helped and I fell into myself.

I remember crying in the fitting room because I felt ugly and no clothes would fit me and your only response was, "You're fat, get over it". Aw, yes, the comforting words every little girl hopes their mother will tell them.

When I reached my breaking point in life and confided in you about my suicide plan, again, the only sweet words you could offer were, "Do you want to go to a nut house?!"

Enough was enough, I turned to working out as my solace and obsessed over calories until I had lost fifty pounds. You did not understand how I was able to achieve this without any magic pill and there were some days I felt your eyes lingering on me a little longer that I felt comfortable with. It was now "okay" for me to have an extra slice of cake and wear something a bit more "form-fitting". God, forbid I wear shorts in 90-degree Florida weather though otherwise, I would be "asking for it".

It was not all bad though. We argued like hell, but the few laughs we shared were nice. When I was crying over a boy while we were sleeping over at a relative's house, you packed our bags and drove us home, so I could cry in your arms in peace.

When you found me on the floor the day before my 22nd birthday saying that I did not want to be alive anymore, you picked me up, and again held me in your arms.

You might have messed with my body image, but you were always there to pick up the pieces. It was never your fault though. It was my own for taking things too seriously and not taking responsibility for my own thoughts.

I often wished you away in my head, but if that were to happen who else would text me "are you still alive?" on a random Wednesday morning because of a dream that they had about me dying?

You are the reason I am the way that I am though. Though I can be hard on myself, I am talented, funny, successful, beautiful, and everything you ever wanted me to be. And despite not always liking you, I love that everything you put me through made me, me.