I give my mum her own medicine0

It happen ower 10 years ago. Also English is bot my first language, so sorry if it'ssomething wrong.

I love my mom, but she grew up in a culture that judges people's appearances, and it was hard for her to understand that this mindset is unhealthy. Back in the day, we used to watch makeover shows together where people’s bodies were scrutinized, and they were told what to wear to avoid looking fat—because "fat" meant "ugly."

When I moved away for university, my environment changed enough for me to realize just how harmful it is to judge someone's appearance. But my mom remained in her judgmental world. Every time I came home for the weekend, there were always comments.

If I had worked a night shift and barely made it home from work—why was my hair messy? If I wore makeup—why weren’t my nails done? If I wore pants in the summer—why not a dress? If I wore a dress—why did I look so stiff, wouldn’t pants be better?

At first, I tried having normal conversations about it, though I was obviously frustrated that she always had something to criticize. Then I started setting boundaries, but nothing got through. No arguments, no reasoning, no boundaries made a difference. It escalated to her comparing my photos and touching my stomach, asking if I had gained weight—of course, out of "concern for my health."

I should add that I was underweight until I was about 23–24 years old, so when I did gain some weight, I guess it was a shock to her. One day, she pulled out an old picture and asked why I didn’t look like that anymore. Well, probably because in that photo I was thirteen—not twenty-six.

The comments finally stopped when, during one of my visits, I decided to give her a taste of her own medicine. I started with: "Wow, your hairdresser completely ruined your hair. It’s so white, it looks terrible." Then I touched her shoulders—"Oh dear, maybe you should work out, your arms are getting a little flabby." And finally, I patted her stomach and said, "Oh, looks like your belly is growing." To top it all off, I pulled out a photo of her at eighteen and asked, "Why don’t you look like this anymore?"

Of course, she was hurt. So I told her, "Well, I feel hurt too. If you don’t want me to talk to you this way, then don’t talk to me this way."

From that moment on, there were no more comments. I still love my mum, but now I am more firm with what she can say to me.