Growing Up With Fat Parents: How it Affected Me

Dear Reader, please note that it is not my intention to shame or offend anyone in this article. Weight is a very sensitive matter for many people – a private war that is so much more than what many may assume to be simply a “lack of self-control” or “discipline” when it comes to food.

However, growing up with extremely overweight & obese parents did shape my childhood and young adulthood in many ways that I am still trying to understand. My only intention is for people who do relate to know that you are not a terrible person for having issues with your parents’ weight struggles or if you yourself are having weight struggles, it may be an interesting perspective or incentive to continue fighting, not only for yourself but for the people who love you the most.

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Growing up, there was always a new diet being tried out in my home, always a new aversion to a different food group. My parents tried everything - low carb / high fat, high carb / low fat, the 5:2 diet, Paleo, the liquid diet... the list goes on. We even tried locking the fridge at night, to prevent my dad from midnight snacking. Yes, you read that correctly: we locked the fridge at night, with a padlock and everything.

The diets all started the same way. My mother would find a new diet from whatever health magazine she was reading and would decide that this was the answer to all her problems. She would get my dad onboard and the two of them would commit fully to this new meal plan with the great zeal of the newly converted.

They would behave superbly at first, showing great discipline and renouncing their old ways. They would plan to lose 20 kilos by Christmas and would become very excited over the idea of showing off their new bodies at the beach that summer. They would behave superbly at first, but slowly they began to slip.

It got hard. One slip lead to another and soon they were sneaking candy bars in cars and stuffing the wrappers between cushions. You would find Mars Bar wrappers and packaging from cookie boxes in the strangest corners around the house. This secretive behavior is a clear indicator of the shame they felt, and that in itself was and continues to be heartbreaking to me.

Eventually, they would stop sneaking around and my parents would quietly embrace their old habits - back to eating chocolate on the couch, rewarding a mildly challenging day's work with ice cream or cookies.

It was incredibly frustrating to me, seeing the two people who I loved the most so powerless against their addiction to food. I have a strong memory from when I was about 8 or 9, walking in on my mother in the kitchen who was devouring a packet of biscuits with jam and butter on top. I begged her to stop eating and she would just brush me off. I felt so helpless, there was nothing I could say. I wanted so badly for her to stop eating, to start treating her body right so we didn't have to live against the backdrop of diets, health-scares and the quiet depression that darkly surrounds body-hatred.

As I got older, I demanded to know why they couldn't 'just stick to it', to try a little harder even when it got hard. My questions were only ever met with the hostility that arises as consequence of a deep-rooted insecurity. I can see this now, how frustrating it would have been for them to already feel powerless and angry at themselves but then have to answer to their idealistic eleven year old. I was told often to mind my own business, which was hard to do when you see the people you love fall deeper and deeper into a dangerous health zone.

It was extremely uninspiring. For people who don't understand, it is maybe a little bit like watching a loved one wanting to better their lives by going back to university so that they can pursue their dream career. But, they keep getting bogged down by the workload and drop out every semester. They re-enroll the next semester, but the drop out is inevitable. This cycle goes on for twenty years.

I had very few positive role models growing up because of this. Their lack of discipline surrounding food leaked into most parts of their lives and I found myself having very little respect for them as an early teenager. I grew deeply embarrassed of how the world perceived my family dynamic. I was worried people would see that I was rewarded with sweets and goodies every time I achieved only a minor accomplishment. I was worried they would think I was as lazy and undisciplined as my parents.

Ultimately, I realize these were just my own fears settling in, fears that I would become like them. I was thirteen and gaining weight and was much heavier than the average girl my age. I was being fed Nutella and deep fried spring rolls when I got home from school and my self-control became weaker and weaker. I was worried I too would be stuck in a war with my weight, that would go on forever - never to be won.

My eating habits were extremely poor and I started hating my body. I would stay up until 2am on school nights, researching new ways to lose weight and I could see how much my struggles reflected my mother's and this petrified me. I became so self conscious yet saw food as my comfort and answer to every issue. It was a strange cycle to be trapped in, and one that lasted many years. Even when I attempted to be healthy, they animalistic mentality that existed in my household took over - that if there was something tasty in the house, I better eat it all up quickly lest someone else eat it up first.

I wish I could say there was a happier ending to this. My parents to this day struggle with their weight and are still classified as obese. I do not know whether they will ever lose the weight, and I need to stop waiting in suspense for the day that they do and feeling accountable for their obesity.

As for me, it took years to stop looking to food for comfort, as had been taught in my home to do. It took a long time too, to relax the extreme discipline I developed which lead to a very different type of eating disorder. I still have moments where I am angry at my parents for not being thin during our childhood, and missing out on certain things like playing sport together or being able to fully enjoy a beach trip without my mum trying to hide her body.

I hope so much that this is not the end of their story - that they don't let the weight win. I hope for others too, that they live their best lives and find a way to overcome the battles they fight in their lives.