Grace for Almond Moms (Like Me)

For all of my childhood, and into our friendship as adults, I watched my mom go through every iteration of Weight Watchers (its like magic math for not eating) and she went on and off different versions of every low carbohydrate diet imaginable.

My mother’s mother put her on her first diet when she was in elementary school. She would skip lunch at school and eat a hamburger patty when she got home. I marvel at this story for so many reasons. Was this like Adkins for children? Had my grandmother read about this in a women’s magazine? But mostly I find myself astonished that my grandmother who had survived the Depression, with all of her family’s food shortages and poverty, would have the capacity to do such a thing.

But that’s how important it is to be a thin woman in America.

My mother once told me that her book club, full of middle aged women, listed out all of the diets they had put themselves through. It could have filled a book. She said to me, “I’m glad that at least you don’t seem to be doing that to yourself.” It was such a compassionate moment acknowledging that perhaps that generational curse had been broken.

There have been some recent, very funny videos on social media that young women have made describing their mothers as Almond Moms. The concept came from an episode of the Housewives television franchise. In it, a mother suggests to her very hungry daughter that she simply have a few almonds. Almond Moms might suggest that you “save your calories for the big meal” or suggest that you should get a bowl for those chips instead of mindlessly eating them from the bag. They will comment on a relative who has put on weight or pull out the classic “A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.” These observations are meant to be relatable and funny but they also feel deeply sad to me.

Because I have my own inner Almond Mom, just like my mother did, just like her mother did. And if we think these Almond Moms saying this to their kids is terrible (and it is), just imagine what they are saying to themselves.

The longing to be just a few pounds lighter is as profound as any other desire that most women carry. And while it is easy to dismiss these mothers as ill-informed and cruel, there is so much to unpack underneath the potato chip denying facade. And it seems to haunt all of us, regardless of how much we measure up.

Amidst the recipe exchanges, old family stories, and death roll call of my childhood family reunions, there was always time for the women to talk about how they needed to lose weight. And frankly, for health reasons some of them did. Our family carried many of the same weight related diseases that continue to be so common in the Deep South. But it was always about vanity. My grandmother was one of three sisters so the energy around being the “best looking one” was no small thing.

But even in my current suburban context, it is still top of mind, perhaps even more so. Here we have seasons of our lives where we are home with children and there are days that it can feel as though we are of seemingly little value. And so control over our bodies becomes the focus.

The highest iteration of womanhood has been to be the thinnest one in the room, no matter where that room exists. To be the thinnest is to be the best.

So I pray for grace for the Almond Moms I know, myself included. I pray that we can know our value is in the kind of immeasurable beauty that God gives us. The beauty that comes from relationships and community and the tender mercy of failure. I pray that we can love our bodies because clothing can be so much fun, food can be incredibly delicious, and there’s nothing better than a neighborhood walk with a dear friend.  What an absolute freaking miracle our lives are. That’s my prayer for us.

We cannot shame ourselves into breaking the curse of thinness. We can only ask for the God to rescue us from even that burden, silly as it may feel. For the sake of our daughters, of course, but also for the sake of ourselves.

We can also laugh at ourselves and the ridiculousness of trying to perfect something that is always and forever headed towards the grave. Remember that death is imminent and that the goodness of Jesus is true. And then find some humor to hold onto. When my mother died a friend came over to help me get her ashes into the urn I ordered. They almost didn’t fit. I yelled out, “If you just would have stuck with the diets mom!” And I could hear my mom laughing with us.