This is me at 37. Taken, in fact, on my birthday sans make up and flat iron, but nearly 15 pounds lighter than last fall. I was trying to get a birthday shot in for this week's pictures, but when I saw them, I dismissed them all (see: sans make up and flat iron) and took something else for my Tuesday picture.
And then I read, back to back, a couple of posts on body image. My first thought, after clicking close, was "thank heavens I don't have girls" and then, "wait...Sammy is going to have to MARRY a girl...I hope she isn't one of these striving for the wrong type of perfection". And I started thinking and, well, here we are.
I am normal. I have issues with my body (I need to lose more weight and somehow learn to actually like to exercise, my freckles will be the death of me and I hate my lack of chin) but I also have things I love (that I have rock hard abs and decent muscle definition under my flab of flesh, enough that even my GYN mentioned them, my eyes rock, as do my lips and my legs are nice and long and with the help of a fabulous colorist, I now have my dream hair color). Over all, I don't think I'm hideous most days. But...that's as good as it gets some days; others? I look great. Even with that, I still clearly felt the need to mention my 15 pound weight loss, but I know I'm not the only one with these thoughts. And there is some comfort in that.
My sister in law, last month at book club, mentioned that she elevated her dress at book club "because Tawnya always looks so nice"* and that stuck. While I appreciate the compliment, I felt badly that she thought she needed to dress differently because of me. And I think this is at the heart of those body image articles I read this week and WHY her comment stuck with me. In one of those articles, they mentioned that Utah has an abnormally high percentage of plastic surgery per capita. True? I don't know. It might be. My first thought was are they counting the things done after a woman has many children (breast lifts, etc) because that may skew the view, a little. However...I know I talk to friends about the obsession for fitness and outwardly perfection and how it seems ramped up here. Perception? Maybe. But it does seem to be in the focus here.
Yesterday morning, as I had all of these thoughts swirling, I read an obituary in the paper. It caught my eye because she looked so young. And I was right. She was 31. Married 10 years, five kids (8, 6, 4 y.o. twins, 3). Died of cancer on Monday. Because I CANNOT handle stories like that, I started thinking of it in terms of body issue. Did this young mom hate her body before? When she got sick, did she have new appreciation for it? Did she simply celebrate the fact that it bore her children? Or was she normal and morn the bad with good? I'm not sick. Yet. But who knows? Anything can happen. Am I really treating my body with respect while I'm healthy?
So, yes. This is me at 37. I have issues with my body. I have no chin. I need to lose a little weight. My freckles are a source of great hatred. And while it's not a great picture of me, I need to embrace it because it IS me. This is what 37 looks like. And I need to be ok with that. And while I have flaws and I'm sure my body issues won't go away any time soon, I'm seeing how choices and attitudes perpetuate this myth of physical perfection and how that myth can be stopped. But I also see how very fine and blurry that line really is between chasing beauty for chasings sake and taking care of yourself, this one shot in this one body you have, wanting it to be the best and look the best it can. It seems so black and white but complicated and confusing all at once. So this is me. Posting this in hopes that I can start to take the complicated out and see that blurry line in my own life a little more clearly.
*just an FYI, I'm sitting her typing this in sweater pants (heaven!) and a tshirt, hair not even blown dry today and fuzzy socks. Just keepin' it real, people, though there won't be a picture of today...
(white stripes, blue orchid: in tribute, white stripes...i will always be sad we missed your last concert)
1. I thought ginger ale was alcoholic until WELL into my adulthood. The first time I ordered it on a plane, I still felt a little guilty.
2. Several years ago, every day when I got to work, the first thing I would do is play an internet "Name that Tune" game. It was an alternative 80s version. My sister and brother in law would also play and we would email answers / times / whatever the score method was to each other. Every day. Before any real work started. And if I had an early meeting and couldn't get to it quickly? Bummed. I still miss it.
3. I own four out of the six albums Rick Astley has made.
4. I actually thought Corky Romano was funny. And...I may own it. And quote it.
5. I once fell asleep at an outdoor concert. In the middle of the afternoon. I don't even remember who we were seeing, but I was tired. For some reason, this song is linked in my mind with that event. Maybe they were there? I don't remember. I was ASLEEP.
In December, I bought a four pack of hypnotherapy sessions at a discount (therapy? It's like we're talking gum!). I figured pre-paying them would give me the kick in the butt I needed to go in. I have one session of that pack left to go and I promised I would hold off scheduling more until I thought it through and analyzed it a bit. Which you all now get to witness...
So far, I like it. I like the actual therapy. The change in my feelings and thoughts after a session is AMAZING. It's a little like Valium, in that way. The concerns are still there, but I just...don't care about them. So if I could just bottle that up and ride that little high forever, that would be great.
My therapist is nice. Like a little grandma. I half feel as though she may bake me a cake or make me a quilt at some point during the session. But I like her. I still don't feel completely comfortable around her, yet, but I don't know if that's even possible. I always sit there thinking that they want me to complain about my ex, detailing my fears of abandonment and betrayal over my divorce and...meh. I just really don't want to go down that road, even though I'm sure if I did, maybe I could finally get a handle on all of this. But still. I don't wanna. That subject bores me and I don't want to boil it down to cliches. So if I'm unwilling to discuss it, what's the point of going, right?
So I'm not sure what I want to do after my last session is done. I'm toying with trying a mainstream therapist, just for comparison, but I'm not sure. I'm also toying with just quitting. This is where I just wish there was a magic wand to wave away all the anxiety and I wouldn't have to make a decision at all. Or maybe I should just chase that hypno feeling in a bottle. That sometimes sounds way more doable, ya know?
