Hey there! I took an unplanned vacation from writing- everyone in our family ended up getting that awful winter crud going around and everything non-essential came to a screeching halt. Although my kids energy returned quick as an Oklahoma weather change, it took me weeks to morph from exhausted back to my normal slightly tired self. Plus all the holiday and year-change stuff was going on and all the other excuses for not getting stuff done. For example, I need to enjoy this chilly evening by watching the Psych movie that just came out instead of writing. An artist must take time to enjoy other art forms too, right? Very important.
It’s January, the month of resolutions, and I return back to this really uncomfortable and awkward subject about preoccupation with my body image. This is the first year that I can remember I haven’t done some extremely limited diet or cleanse/weight-loss plan. I’d like to pretend I have been totally fine and confident and it wasn’t ever a big deal, but in the spirit of authenticity I can’t tell that fake story. Since the ballet girls I mentioned in my previous post, the real story has been a present and difficult struggle for a great portion of my life. I am sharing it because I can’t believe I am alone in this and although I can’t speak to my previous self, I can speak to you, the reader, wherever you are at in your journey. Hopefully you can gain some perspective that took me years to get.
Speaking of perspective, in the previous post I forgot to mention a significant experience that happened during my teen years and always stuck with me. I went on a mission trip to Ghana the summer after my sophomore year in high school. By the end of the month some Ghanaian women who I became close with would surround me, lovingly pinch my cheeks, my belly, and the fat on the back of my arms and declare with white teeth through wide smiles “You are SO FAT!” I would quickly reply “I’m not fat, I’m normal,” my usual self-speak rhetoric. But they would seem to scold me, replying “NOOOO- you are FAT and HEALTHY and BEAUTIFUL!” I was confused and conflicted as to how they could so positively celebrate something I felt was so negative. It was uncomfortable how the parts I didn’t like about my body were being inspected and touched, and then loudly (and accurately) described to anyone within range. How I usually address my belly and arm fat is to cover it up, suck it in, and try not to look too hard. To invite touch or draw attention to these areas seemed unthinkable (I note the irony that I am now writing about this and inviting the general public to observe!), and to celebrate was unfathomable. I literally had never thought my body could be inspected and deemed worthy of loud, celebratory approval.
The lense these women saw my body through was so different than what I was used to from myself (or how others seemed to view their bodies) that it painfully stuck out as an anomaly in my worldview. I discussed this with a Ghanaian friend and she explained how skinny usually meant poor and malnourished or depressed/poor appetite, and how the first sign of economic stability and even mental health was often the physical evidence of better nourishment, a healthy layer of fat. Although I wasn’t overweight or obese by any medical standard of measurement, I sure did have evidence of above-average food consumption. So, in declaring and celebrating my body, these lovely women were also celebrating my financial security and overall good health.
There was something right with me, and I didn’t realize it. But these ladies did. Instead of looking at me and seeing something wrong with me, they looked at me and saw something worth celebrating. It took me years to believe this, that my body is not an item to be scrutinized for flaws or compared to others to find value. I can choose who to side with; the ballet girls or the Ghanaian women. To criticize or celebrate.
I am slowly moving the direction towards cherishing, enjoying, and yes, even celebrating my body. Having children has been an opportunity for me to continue in this direction (although I would like to emphasize fertility or lack thereof doesn’t add or subtract to anyone’s value as a person). The miracle of experiencing a separate life growing internally, and then the disappointment of not being able to actually birth that life like normal (it was a big deal for me to need c-sections for both births), was another opportunity to choose criticism or celebration. To be honest, every day I have multiple opportunities to make this choice, when I catch the side view of my body in a mirror, or when I notice my arms in a photo, when I accidentally dry the jeans on high heat instead of low. This celebration is not to be done once or alone. As I head this direction, I am beginning to look at myself and others in a new light, and what I see is beautiful. I am learning to choose celebration, choose gratefulness, and head in the direction of health rather than unhealthy perfection. Let’s go this way together.
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