"The best thing parents can do is to teach their children to love challenges, be intrigued by mistakes, enjoy effort, and keep on learning." — Carol S. Dweck
I have tons of childhood memories of my mom.
I remember her reading me bedtimes stories like Green Eggs and Ham.
I remember playing board games with her like Parcheesi and Sorry.
I remember the elaborate cakes she would bake for my birthdays.
But one very distinct memory is from when I was around 8 years old and my mom was preparing to take the physical exam to become a firefighter for a nearby suburb.
Part of the test included dragging and pulling a fire hose for a specified distance.
My mom would practice on the sidewalk in front of our house, going back and forth from our driveway to our neighbor's.
I remember the effort she would put in.
(My mom is not a large woman — she's roughly 5'3" and at the time weighed around 125lbs — and the physical tests for most fire exams require candidates to carry 50-80lbs of gear.)
I remember her frustration when her practice runs went over the time allotted to pass the test.
And I also remember her pride when she finished under the buzzer.
I remember that she always wore an old t-shirt and sweatpants.
I remember that she didn't put on makeup, wear a cute headband or queue up the ultimate "beast mode" playlist.
I remember that no one took pictures or recorded video.
These training sessions weren't about putting on a show for our neighbors or about losing weight in order to have the perfect body.
They were about setting and working towards a goal.
After months of training, she passed the exam but didn't get the job.
It was the early days of "equal opportunity" employment and they had already hit their minimum quota for women on the squad, so she got passed over for a guy. 😒
I remember that she was disappointed, but I don't remember her making a big deal about it.
I also don't remember ever seeing my mom step onto a scale.
I don't remember seeing her scrutinize herself in a mirror or hearing her say negative things about her body.
While I have plenty of unsavory memories of my mom, because, let's be real here...no one is perfect, none of them have anything to do with weight or body image.
And for this I am eternally grateful.
(Side note: I still dealt with tons of body image issues in my past, I'm just not blaming any of them on my mother. 😝)
My mom keeps a photo (taken before I was born) displayed in the workout area of her basement.
It isn't a "flattering" picture. She doesn't look "cute" or "sexy".
It's a picture of her doing a heavy back squat — face contorted from effort, wearing old sweats and a lifting belt.
I remember looking at that photo often when I was a kid and thinking to myself, "wow, my mom is a badass".
Despite her flaws, this image is the one I hold in my head when I think of my mom.
The image of a woman who drags a fire hose across the sidewalk over and over until she passes the test.
A woman who isn't isn't too concerned with her appearances or too intimidated to step into a weight room full of men.
A woman who is powerful and brave.
In October my mom competed in her first ever powerlifting meet and deadlifted 200lbs (almost 1.5x her bodyweight) with ease.
When I watched the videos of her lifts I was immediately reminded of that photo and the impact it had on my mindset as a child.
Thank you mom for teaching me that strength (physical, mental and emotional) is not an attribute reserved only for men.
For teaching me to enjoy putting in effort and to take pride in my work.
And for teaching me never to shy away from a good challenge.
Happy (early) Mother's Day to all the moms out there! Thank you for everything that you do.
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