Dear Mum，

I was seven when I discovered that you were fat， ugly and horrible. Up until that point I had believed that you were beautiful—in every sense of the word. I remember flicking through old photo albums and staring at pictures of you standing on the deck of a boat. Your white strapless bathing suit looked so glamorous， just like a movie star.

But all of that changed when， one night， we were dressed up for a party and you said to me，“Look at you， so thin， beautiful and lovely. And look at me， fat， ugly and horrible.”

At first I didn’t understand what you meant. “You’re not fat，” I said earnestly and innocently， and you replied， “Yes I am， darling. I’ve always been fat； even as a child.” In the days that followed I had some painful revelations that have shaped my whole life. I learned that：

1. You must be fat because mothers don’t lie.

2. Fat is ugly and horrible.

3. When I grow up I’ll look like you and therefore I will be fat， ugly and horrible too.

With every grimace at your reflection in the mirror， every new wonder diet that was going to change your life， and every guilty spoon of “Oh-I really shouldn’t”， I learned that women must be thin to be valid and worthy. Girls must go without because their greatest contribution to the world is their physical beauty.

Just like you， I have spent my whole life feeling fat. When did fat become a feeling anyway？ And because I believed I was fat， I knew I was no good.

But now that I am older， and a mother myself， I know that blaming you for my body hatred is unhelpful and unfair. I now understand that you too are a product of a long and rich lineage of women who were taught to loathe themselves.

Look at the example Nanna set for you. Despite being what could only be described as famine-victim chic， she dieted every day of her life until the day she died at 79 years of age. She used to put on make-up to walk to the letterbox for fear that somebody might see her unpainted face.

I remember her “compassionate”response when you announced that Dad had left you for another woman. Her first comment was， “I don’t understand why he’d leave you. You look after yourself， you wear lipstick. You’re overweight—but not that much.”

Before Dad left， he provided no balm for your body-image torment either.

“Jesus， Jan，” I overheard him say to you.“It’s not that hard. Energy in versus energy out. If you want to lose weight you just have to eat less.”

That night at dinner I watched you implement Dad’s “Energy In， Energy Out： Jesus， Jan， Just Eat Less” weight-loss cure. You served up chow mein for dinner. Everyone else’s food was on a dinner plate except yours. You served your chow mein on a tiny bread-and-butter plate.

Silent tears streamed down your face. I said nothing. We all ate our dinner in silence. Nobody comforted you. Nobody told you to stop being ridiculous and get a proper plate. Nobody told you that you were already loved and already good enough. Your achievements and your worth—as a teacher of children with special needs and a devoted mother of three of your own—paled into insignificance when compared with the centimetres you couldn’t lose from your waist.

It broke my heart to witness your despair and I’m sorry that I didn’t rush to your defence. I’d already learned that it was your fault that you were fat. The lesson： you didn’t deserve any food and you certainly didn’t deserve any sympathy.

But I was wrong， Mum. Now I understand what it’s like to grow up in a society that tells women that their beauty matters most， and at the same time defines a standard of beauty that is perpetually out of reach. I also know the pain of internalising these messages. We have become our own jailors and we inflict our own punishments for failing to measure up. No one is as cruel to us as we are to ourselves.

But this madness has to stop， Mum. It stops with you， it stops with me and it stops now. We deserve better—better than to have our days brought to ruin by thoughts of our “bad bodies，”wishing we were otherwise.

And it’s not just about you and me any more. It’s also about Violet. Your granddaughter is only 3 and I do not want body hatred to take root inside her and strangle her happiness， her confidence and her potential. I don’t want Violet to believe that her beauty is her most important asset； that it will define her worth in the world. When Violet looks to us to learn how to be a woman， we need to be the best role models we can. We need to show her with our words and our actions that women are good enough just the way they are. And for her to believe us， we need to believe it ourselves.

The older we get the more loved ones we lose to accidents and illness. Their passing is always tragic and far too soon. I sometimes think about what these friends—and the people who love them—wouldn’t give for more time in a body that was healthy； a body that would allow them to live just a little longer. The size of that body’s thighs or the lines on its face wouldn’t matter. It would be alive and therefore it would be perfect.

Your body is perfect too. It allows you to disarm a room with your smile and infect everyone with your laugh. It gives you arms to wrap around Violet and squeeze her until she giggles. Every moment we spend worrying about our physical “flaws” is a moment wasted， a precious slice of life that we will never get back.

Let us honour and respect our bodies for what they do instead of despising them for how they appear. We can focus on living healthy and active lives， letting our weight fall where it may， while consigning our body hatred to the past where it belongs. When I looked at that photo of you in the white bathing suit all those years ago， my innocent young eyes saw the truth. I saw unconditional love， beauty and wisdom. I saw my Mum.

Love， Kasey xx

親愛的媽媽：

當我發(fā)現(xiàn)您又肥又丑又難看的時候，我七歲。在此之前，我一直深信您很美——任何方面都是。我記得自己翻閱舊相冊，定睛看著一張您站在船夾板上的照片。您穿著那白色無吊帶泳衣看起來優(yōu)雅無比，像極了電影明星。

但一天晚上，一切都改變了。那天，我們?yōu)橐粋€派對盛裝打扮，您對我說：“看看你，多苗條啊，漂亮又可愛。看看我，又肥又丑又難看?！?/p>

起初，我不明白您的話。

“您不肥，”我真心誠摯地說，但您卻回答說：“我很肥，寶貝。我一直都很肥，就算是小時候也很肥?！?/p>

之后的日子里，我發(fā)現(xiàn)一些痛苦的“事實”，這一切影響了我整個人生。我明白到的“道理”如下：

1. 您一定是肥婆，因為當媽媽的是不會撒謊的。

2. 肥就是丑，就是難看的。

3. 當我長大以后，我看起來就會像您那樣，所以我也會變得又肥又丑又難看。

從每一次您照鏡子時的痛苦表情，每一種新的將要改變您人生的神奇節(jié)食方法，每一勺說著“噢，我真的不應(yīng)該（吃）”并且滿帶罪惡感吃下的飯菜，我都明白到女性必須要纖瘦，那才是合情合理，有價值的。女孩子們必須習以為常，因為她們對這個世界最大的貢獻就是其體態(tài)美。

就像您那樣，我整整一輩子都覺得自己很肥。肥胖究竟什么時候變成了一種感覺了？因為我確信自己很胖，所以我知道自己一無是處。

但如今，我年紀大了些，自己也當上了媽媽，我明白到將我自己對身體的不滿歸咎于您是毫無幫助，也是不公平的。我現(xiàn)在明白，漫長世代以來，無數(shù)女性一直被灌輸著自嫌自厭的概念，而您也只是其中一個產(chǎn)物。

看看奶奶給您樹立的榜樣吧。盡管“窈窕”如饑民，但她生命中的每一天都在節(jié)食，一直堅持到她79歲離世的那天。她連取信也得化了妝才出去，因為擔心有人看到她那不施粉黛的臉。

當您宣告說爸爸為了其他女人而離您而去時，我記得她那“充滿同情”的回答。她發(fā)表的第一個評論是：“我不明白他為什么要離開你。你會打扮，你涂口紅。你胖——但也不算很嚴重?！?/p>

在爸爸離家之前，他也沒有對您的體型之苦手下留情。

“天啊，簡，”我無意中聽到他對您說。“沒那么難吧。熱量攝取與消耗的平衡而已。要減肥，吃少點不就行了?！?/p>

那天吃晚飯的時候，我看到您實踐起爸爸的減肥療法來了：“平衡熱量攝取與消耗：天啊，簡，就吃少點吧”。您做了炒面作為晚飯。除了您，其他人的飯菜都盛在一個晚餐盤子上。您自己的那份炒面盛在一個很小的面包黃油碟子上。

無聲的淚從您的臉上流了下來。我沒有說話。我們所有人都無聲地吃著自己的飯。沒有人安慰您。沒有人跟您說，別這么荒謬了，去換碟正經(jīng)的飯菜吧。沒有人告訴您，您已經(jīng)很受人愛戴，已經(jīng)做得夠好的了。您的成就，您的價值——作為一位教育特殊兒童的老師和一個全心全意照顧三個子女的媽媽，這些與您無法從腰間減去的那幾厘米相比，顯得蒼白失色，毫無意義。

看到您的絕望，我心碎不已，我很抱歉，我當時沒有趕緊為您辯護。我那時以為，長得胖是您的錯。其道理是：您不該有一點吃的，您當然也不應(yīng)該獲得任何的同情。

但我錯了，媽媽。現(xiàn)在我明白到，成長在這樣一個社會是怎樣一番滋味：這個社會灌輸給女性的觀念是，她們的美才是最重要的，并且同時制定出一個幾乎讓人無法企及的“美”的標準。我也知道這些信息牢套于心的痛苦。我們將自己投入到囹圄之中，我們懲罰自己達不到標準。我們對待自己的殘忍程度，無人能及。

但這種瘋狂必須停止，媽媽。從您身上停止，從我身上停止，從現(xiàn)今起停止。我們值得擁有更好的生活——我們認為自己“體態(tài)不堪”，渴望有所不同，這種想法把我們的生活給毀了，我們應(yīng)該過得更好。

而這不再僅僅是您和我的事情了。也關(guān)乎維奧萊特。您的外孫女只有三歲，我不想那種對身體的仇恨植根在她心中，扼殺了她的快樂、自信和潛能。我不想維奧萊特執(zhí)著于美麗是她最重要的財富，執(zhí)著于美麗將定義她在這個世界的價值。當維奧萊特參照我倆來學習如何成為一名女性時，我們需要成為最佳的楷模。我們需要以我們的言行來向她表明：女性忠于本色足矣。要她相信我們，我們就得先相信自己。

我們年紀越大，就會因意外或者疾病失去更多我們愛的人。他們的離世總是走得太急，讓人悲痛。我有時候想，這些朋友以及愛他們的人，有什么是他們不愿意舍棄以換取更多時間活在健康的軀體內(nèi)的？一個可以讓他們活得稍稍長久一些的軀體。這個軀體里大腿的尺寸以及臉上的皺紋將不會顯得重要。只要是鮮活的，那就是完美的。

您的身體也很完美。它讓您以笑容緩解室內(nèi)的緊張氣氛，以笑聲感染所有的人。它讓您擁有環(huán)抱維奧萊特的雙臂，可以把她緊緊抱住直至她哈哈大笑。每一刻我們對體形上的“瑕疵”表示擔憂，那都是浪費時間，那是我們無法挽回的寶貴的生命碎片。

讓我們?yōu)樯眢w的“真我本色”致予尊重和敬意，而不是因為它們的形態(tài)對其肆意輕視。我們可以關(guān)注于過上健康而活躍的生活，讓體重順其自然地降下來，而把我們對身體的仇恨交托給逝去的過往。多年前，當我看著您穿著白色泳衣時的照片，我那雙天真無邪的眼睛看出了真諦。我看到了無條件的愛、美和智慧。我看到了我的媽媽。

愛您的，凱西（親親您）