My good body
There are times when, I confess, I find it hard not to be obsessed with myself.
This is not a flattering admission, I realize.
Often my obsession starts with something simple. I'll pass a mirror and notice a sudden new pimple, all angry and red on my chin. I have to stop and stare at it, maybe poke it a bit with my finger just to see if it hurts. Once I notice that pimple, I'll find myself checking my eyebrows to see if they look woolly again or I'll examine my upper lip to try to figure out why it always looks a bit like I have a mustache, even though my upper lip is generally a hair free zone (thanks to the fine people who produce and sell Nair).
I can go on and on, to the zit on my shoulder or the ancient faded stretch marks on my breasts and belly (yay puberty). I could probably, if asked tell you a flaw I have on every appendage. Thankfully people rarely ask.
I'm finding though, that with time and age and maybe some wisdom, that it is starting to interest me less and less to figure out my top ten imperfections. I think this book http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw/104-6327239-3023127?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=intuitive+eating helped. I think having a husband who thinks I sexy helps. I think starting to swim again helps. I think that now that I am really starting to think a lot about what it means to be pregnant, I feel slightly awed by the way that all sorts of really small things have to go well for that to happen.
I sometimes see people with profound physical disabilities at my job. Invariably when I see them I feel a small measure of gratitude that my body is whole and functional in the traditional sense. I realize, of course, that people with disabilities can have lives that are as full and meaningful as mine, but I can't deny the fact that I suspect life is easier to navigate for the able bodies. I try to be aware of myself as able bodied, as functional, as maybe even strong. I think I can rest in those moments of awareness for longer now.
I may not ever have a good body in the way our culture has defined good. I'm not ever going to be a size 6... or eight or maybe even 10. I think I'm getting to be okay with that.
This is not a flattering admission, I realize.
Often my obsession starts with something simple. I'll pass a mirror and notice a sudden new pimple, all angry and red on my chin. I have to stop and stare at it, maybe poke it a bit with my finger just to see if it hurts. Once I notice that pimple, I'll find myself checking my eyebrows to see if they look woolly again or I'll examine my upper lip to try to figure out why it always looks a bit like I have a mustache, even though my upper lip is generally a hair free zone (thanks to the fine people who produce and sell Nair).
I can go on and on, to the zit on my shoulder or the ancient faded stretch marks on my breasts and belly (yay puberty). I could probably, if asked tell you a flaw I have on every appendage. Thankfully people rarely ask.
I'm finding though, that with time and age and maybe some wisdom, that it is starting to interest me less and less to figure out my top ten imperfections. I think this book http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw/104-6327239-3023127?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=intuitive+eating helped. I think having a husband who thinks I sexy helps. I think starting to swim again helps. I think that now that I am really starting to think a lot about what it means to be pregnant, I feel slightly awed by the way that all sorts of really small things have to go well for that to happen.
I sometimes see people with profound physical disabilities at my job. Invariably when I see them I feel a small measure of gratitude that my body is whole and functional in the traditional sense. I realize, of course, that people with disabilities can have lives that are as full and meaningful as mine, but I can't deny the fact that I suspect life is easier to navigate for the able bodies. I try to be aware of myself as able bodied, as functional, as maybe even strong. I think I can rest in those moments of awareness for longer now.
I may not ever have a good body in the way our culture has defined good. I'm not ever going to be a size 6... or eight or maybe even 10. I think I'm getting to be okay with that.
posted by Mrs.Robinson at
10:48 PM
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