Way back when, when I was in therapy bitching to my therapist about my body issues, she explained that the only reason I was picking on myself was that I was, at the time, depressed. “No, I’m fat,” I told her, feeling petulant. She explained that most people have one deep-seated but shallow criticism of themselves that defies all logic, and like an office assistant pulls a file, we pull the file and pore over it when we’re feeling down with no reason at all. Thus instead of thinking “I just feel like crap today,” I would abuse myself by calling myself fat, thereby extending and strengthening the link between my depression and body image.
It doesn’t help that mainstream culture further pushes their market creations on our insecurities, making otherwise intelligent women buy and do ridiculous things. At times one almost feels guilty for rejecting all this beauty nonsense outright, as though one is betraying a duty one has to simple social standards. I too am guilty of buying crap like hair removal lotions that left me with a rash, miracle makeup off an infomercial, and ass cream that left me slick enough to oops! slip out of my jeans on accident and be arrested for public exposure on a city bus (long story). After my pregnancy I was so disgusted with what I saw in the mirror that I embarked on an exercise campaign that left me looking like a sinewy bag of bones. I spent three hours a day at the gym and when offered a meal, glibly said, “No thanks, I’m trying to quit.”
I wasn’t kidding.
I spent a great deal of time justifying my body issues, blaming everything from my ex-boyfriends to depression, continuing that abusive internal dialogue. Those who noticed my weight loss almost universally had the same opinion: Have you lost weight? You look fantastic! That I was miserable and miserably unhealthy was neither apparent or of concern.
I finally began to ease up on myself as I began to get my tattoo. As sad as this is, it wasn’t my feminism or intellect that saved me from my dysmorphia, it was ink and mayonaisse. This isn’t to say that the body image issues ended for me, they only changed. I began to aim for excessive femininity in style and clothing and, as I eased off the exercise, boycotted pants because “my legs were too fat.” I never expressed this out loud until very recently, swaddled in shame because, goddammit, I know better.
My female friends have been a saving grace for me with my body issues, as we hash over them with alarming regularity. I see these beautiful women fretting over this or that and think how silly we are to be so hard on ourselves. I’m not this shallow with others, only myself. Realizing this and re-realizing this begins the reflection necessary to build a scaffold from which to move upward.
When I travelled north last month, I watched my friend very carefully. She has the body of a fertility goddess, over six feet tall with beautiful pear-shaped body, wide hips and round belly, tattoos on her arms, chest, and a beautiful piece of the three sirens on her thigh. She carries it all with a grace and confidence that is truly awesome to behold. When we went out that weekend, she called out a middle-aged stranger who overtly leered at us (answering he “would stare at whatever the hell he wanted to stare at,” pointing at me). What do you think you are, some kind of Amazon?
“Fuck yeah, motherfucker,” she said. “What of it?” He was eye-level with her neck.
Priceless stuff.
Every time I visit her I leave feeling fantastic about myself because her motherhood-, body- and sex-positivity is contagious and so personally compelling. It is difficult not to feel like a goddess in her company. I always come home feeling like I can do, or be, anything.
Why my friend feels so different is not only that she is both traditionally and untraditionally attractive, her beauty comes from exuding power. While body trends shift and change with the decade, we’re stuck with the bodies we have and the ways in which we must develop positive self-perception. She has a handle on things. When I spend time with her, I begin to remember that I have a handle on them as well. Most of us are in an unending body project.
Today I feel wonderful — I’ll run with that for awhile.