Notes from Maine - 2023/05/14
If you’re reading this, then Mom has already read it and allowed me to send it out. I’m going to print it and ask for her permission as soon as I finish writing.
Some memories from my childhood are crystal clear. My sister and I used to brush our teeth at the same time. There was a wall-mounted sink in the bathroom (rounded white enamel with separate faucets for hot and cold). She stood at the hot side. I stood at the cold. We brushed facing each other. After rinsing her mouth, she would smile with giant front teeth that would eventually require braces to wrench them back into place. Her hair was straight and bright blonde then—almost translucent. I would smile back. To this day I can’t brush my teeth with warm water. I wonder if she can’t brush hers with cold.
My mother was a goddess. Tall and powerful, she commanded our deepest love and respect, but she was flawed. Not in our eyes. To us, she was perfect. But she would pat her lower belly and lament what time and motherhood had done to her flat stomach. In the evening, listening to Jean Shepherd on the radio, she would do leg lifts on the floor in front of the fireplace, trying to regain her figure. The varicose veins in her legs were surgically removed. She had the bridge of her nose shaved down. I wouldn’t say she was vain; she just wasn’t satisfied with herself. Mom was the first daughter of a Russian man who desperately wanted sons. When her mother left them, she and her sister were dropped off with a neighbor for a couple of years. It’s not difficult to speculate where feelings of inadequacy might stem from. Pregnant with my brother, she was determined to stay thin. I remember her saying that she only gained nine pounds during that pregnancy, but that can’t be right. Then again, from the photos, maybe it was.
As I said: to us, she was perfect. Looking back at photos, you might agree. In her thirties, Mom was active, curious, and always learning. She took a class in car repair at the high school so she could fix our station wagon. Dad was a decent mechanic, but he was always at work. Besides, that wasn’t the point—Mom wanted to be self-sufficient, and she was. She’s still that way. And she’s still convinced that her body is imperfect. A couple of days ago, she told me that she had some weight to lose.
That got me to wondering... Is it possible to change? It’s not that difficult to alter one’s behavior for a week, month, or year, but is that real change?
For example, I envy those who are impervious to other people’s opinions. For a while, I’ve practiced at ignoring criticism and unwanted advice. I’m stating this too strongly—it’s not that I ignore what other people say, it’s just that I try to keep ideas at arm’s length until I’ve had a chance to evaluate them. There are just too many people in the world who will hurl opinions with very little thought behind them. I try to not change my behavior until I’ve had a chance to consider if the criticism/advice has any merit.
I publish books—putting them out into the world to be judged. The same book can be one person’s favorite thing ever, and so bad that someone else couldn’t even finish it. I’m not writing for the second person, so it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on their review. There’s no reason to dwell on the first person’s review either, for that matter. Regardless, it takes effort for me to block out those thoughts. I’ll be in the shower, constructing a careful counter argument that refutes all the negative points made about my work and I’ll have to stop myself.
People are entitled to their (wrong) opinions about things. Some reviews don’t make sense, like, “I got this book for free and started it even though I hate horror books and I didn’t even bother to finish the first page because it’s clearly a horror book. One star.”
Awesome. Great review. When I’m trying to decide if I should buy a product, I always want to read up on the reviews from people who already know that they hate that type of product. If I stumble onto a negative review, I remind myself that everyone is entitled to their (wrong) opinions, and it shouldn’t matter to me what some random person thinks. But, as I said, for me that requires effort even though for some people being dismissive seems effortless. No matter how much I practice, it seems like I can’t “fake it until I make it.” A couple of days later I realize that I’m no longer mentally rebutting the negative comment, but I know that next time will require the same process.
So, these people who talk about learning self-acceptance, do they actually ever achieve that? Could someone obsessed with their weight learn to love their body? I’ve been overweight and underweight, but I’ve never stopped worrying about how much I weigh. It’s like getting really good at holding your breath. Eventually, you have to take in air, and worrying about how much I weight seems like oxygen. Did I learn that from my mother? Like the tooth-brushing memory, I can remember every time someone told me I was fat when I was a kid—did I simply internalize those opinions? If so, then it’s another good example of how I’m not really good at brushing off bad reviews.
Mom did a wonderful job at shielding us from a number of her insecurities. Not fond of the water, she was terrified when we went swimming, and we used to swim constantly. Her father had a million rules based on food insecurity. For example, at my maternal grandfather’s house, you couldn’t drink anything (milk or water) while you ate dinner because it, “Washed the food down,” which apparently meant that you were wasting it? I assume that was depression-era thinking. Who knows?
With all the things I learned and didn’t learn, internalized or ignored, I’m not sure I’ve learned to actually change. I’m not even certain it’s possible.
My parents in a photo booth - 1970s.
Wedding photo - 1963.
Mom on Grandpa’s boat - 1970s
