*I was hesitant to write this post because there are a lot of words about body image out there. But as it turns out, even if my words reflect the many that have been written before, they are still my own. I write this in case I ever have to remind myself of these things, for the day my little siblings discover this blog, and to acknowledge the work of all the women and men in my life who have helped me see past my limited perception of what bodies are and aren't. Also cause I just wrote a paragraph justifying this to you and now my ego is way too big to stop. *
I.
The home I grew up in had a 2 scales. One of them was picked up from the Las Vegas Goodwill and was used to weigh the packages of the random things my mom sold on Ebay. The other was a very neglected bathroom scale that sat dusty under my parents sink. This last scale disappeared early in my life and I don't really remember seeing any version of it past the age of 7. I asked my parents once about it's disappearance and they answered that they just no longer found it useful. My mother has never, not once, (in my presence at least) said anything negative about her body, or anyone else's body. Come to think of it, my mother doesn't say much at all about her body or other people's bodies.
My earliest memory is from the age of two. September 11, 1998 I baked a birthday cake with my older cousins as my mom labored in the next room. I remember very vividly watching my mom push and the way the women around her supported her body. When a good friend who wanted to start a conversation with her 11 year old daughter, asked me how my parents taught me about bodies, I told her they didn't really. There was never just one specific 30 minutes where my mom or dad sat me down for to explain my body to me. I told her that in my home, talk about both birth and bodies were casually mixed in with conversations on the way to the park and over dinner plates of spaghetti. While my girlfriends were dealing with the embarrassment of starting their periods, my mom was throwing a party and taking me to get my ears pierced as a right of passage. A symbol of womanhood.
I want to take a second to recognize my privileged and other factors here as well; I am speaking as someone who resides in a a fairly functional white body and has a body shape that, by society's standards, is deemed beautiful and acceptable. Quite frankly, I had very few problems with my body, and I absolutely attribute this to genetics and the culture of my home. I recognize now that this may be an usual experience for a kid in the western world.
II.
I want to take a second to recognize my privileged and other factors here as well; I am speaking as someone who resides in a a fairly functional white body and has a body shape that, by society's standards, is deemed beautiful and acceptable. Quite frankly, I had very few problems with my body, and I absolutely attribute this to genetics and the culture of my home. I recognize now that this may be an usual experience for a kid in the western world.
II.
Two week's shy of 15, I was in a pretty serious car accident where our car was t-boned and even though by some miracle nothing had been broken, I couldn't walk for two weeks. My body took years to fully heal. I was left with stretch marks from the swelling of my hips, uncomfortable sleep and if I didn't slow down I would have backaches for days. For whatever reason, the mental health issues I faced in the 2013-2015 year and the past trauma my body experienced brought along some strange side-affects. Of which I learned I was not going to get to be immune to poor body image my entire life.
I was indifferent, uninterested and frankly just no long gave a damn about my physical being. I wouldn't ever say that I felt like I hated my body. I mostly just avoided it. Mirrors, baths, anything that would force me to look or sit with myself for an extended period of time. I cried when my favorite pair of pants got too tight. then too loose. and then tight again. And swimming suits? yeah I didn't like that anymore either.
And to be honest, it took a long period of denial to recognize how I was subconsciously responding to my physical self. And as someone who always prided herself on how easy it was for her to feel comfortable with her skin it was painful to admit that this was something I was dealing with now.
III.
I actively seek out people who are willing to talk about their bodies. I love talking to women about how their relationship has changed with their bodies over time and sitting in circles to talk about how birth has effected that. I like talking with the men in my life and seeing how confused they are when I ask them how they feel about their bodies while we're sippin' milkshakes. I love sitting in the in downtown Salt Lake cafe's with my friends and hardcore critiquing societies idea of bodies with swear words and jokes. (JUST JOKING MOM I DON'T SWEAR). These conversations have been personal, raw, hilarious, painful and healing. What I have come to listen to and realize, is that you can tell a lot about where you and others are in relation to their bodies by the narrative they share.
Bodies hold experiences. I don't know if I can stress this enough. Our muscles and our DNA remember moments. They hold the traumatic things we have faced, and when triggered they remind of us of them. Epigenetic research shows how our ancestors traumatic experiences leave marks on our DNA makeup. These things don't necessarily change your DNA itself, but the way it operates. Our bodies hold more memories than we are aware of.
The narrative I have been telling myself about my body is a narrative about being powerless, about trauma, and a victim to societies ideals. It's the biggest sob story about a girl who was once very okay with things and then suddenly not at all.
IV.
Because I am such a visual person I developed some practices to help me see my body as it is; Once a week I would stand in front of a mirror, naked and set a timer for 5 minutes. I would stand there and tell myself all of the things I liked about my body. Both in terms of utility and in the abstract. I remind myself that come a 3 or 4 decades, what society considers beautiful will be something totally different and that my children will think the bushy eyebrow trend is hilarious and be horrified by the idea of aspiring to thigh gap. The rule is that I would always have to end by saying "you are a badass with a badass" because standing in front of a mirror naked with a timer going wasn't funny enough. (the best thing about making your own rules is you can make them, break them, and do whatever the heck you want)
During this time, I eavesdropped (shocker) on a conversation my co-workers we're having where one of them was sharing some mildly gross thing about thing their body. I think it had to with foot fungus. Which is gross but fascinating. My other co-worker commented that it was so "TMI". I mentioned this to my friend and co-worker Keri and we talked about what a high tolerance level we have for that kind of information.
Keri's conclusion in the conversation was, "Bodies are just bodies."
That may not sounds very profound but I was like, KERI SAY THAT AGAIN, THAT IS AN AMAZING STATEMENT
Can I frame it? Can I get it on a t-shirt? A mug would be great too.
This became my new philosophy in the re-commitment to my body.
And my re-commitment didn't look like making myself see my body in a "correct" way
It looked like changing the narrative I told myself about it.
I let myself know that I didn't have to love my body 100% of the time. I just needed to own it. And I was responsible for the story I told about it.
One of my favorite no bullshit message about bodies come from a paragraph in Anne Lammott's book, Bird by Bird, Have you ever read any of her work? She is hilarious, spectacular and I love her. In Bird by Bird, Anne describes an experience she had shopping for a new dress with her friend, Pam. Anne comes out of the dressing room to model a lavender mini dress, which she describes as "not usually my style." She stood there self conscious, although the dress fit her perfectly. She then says "Do you think it makes my hips look big?" Her friend replies slowly with, "Annie? I really don't think you have that kind of time"
ISN'T THAT JUST THE BEST. Because really. DO we have that kind of time to be concerned with how our hips look in lavender mini dresses that we wouldn't normally wear but look awesome on us?
And while on the subject of time, can we just talk about how freakin' tired I am of apologizing for how hairy I am. I do not know if I can keep up with always trying to be waxed and shaved and plucked and smooth. For the love of all things holy can we PLEASE get over women's body hair already. I truly do not have the energy to be worried about how I look in lavender mini dresses or how hairy my legs are.
V.
What I am trying to ask of us is this: Can we take the time to reevaluate the narrative we have about our bodies, not coming at it from a place of correction, but from a place of reflection. Can we step into vulnerability and talk openly about the things that make it hard to accept our bodies as they are. Can we talk about the trauma and experiences we have had that shape our body image. Can we talk about how the hypermasucline image hurts men and how oversexualization hurts women. Can we talk about how our ideal of body has evolved over time and what we can do to create safe spaces. And can we please stop thinking that we ever have the right to say anything but loving things to each other about our bodies. That is if we even have the right to comment at all?
I was indifferent, uninterested and frankly just no long gave a damn about my physical being. I wouldn't ever say that I felt like I hated my body. I mostly just avoided it. Mirrors, baths, anything that would force me to look or sit with myself for an extended period of time. I cried when my favorite pair of pants got too tight. then too loose. and then tight again. And swimming suits? yeah I didn't like that anymore either.
And to be honest, it took a long period of denial to recognize how I was subconsciously responding to my physical self. And as someone who always prided herself on how easy it was for her to feel comfortable with her skin it was painful to admit that this was something I was dealing with now.
III.
I actively seek out people who are willing to talk about their bodies. I love talking to women about how their relationship has changed with their bodies over time and sitting in circles to talk about how birth has effected that. I like talking with the men in my life and seeing how confused they are when I ask them how they feel about their bodies while we're sippin' milkshakes. I love sitting in the in downtown Salt Lake cafe's with my friends and hardcore critiquing societies idea of bodies with swear words and jokes. (JUST JOKING MOM I DON'T SWEAR). These conversations have been personal, raw, hilarious, painful and healing. What I have come to listen to and realize, is that you can tell a lot about where you and others are in relation to their bodies by the narrative they share.
Bodies hold experiences. I don't know if I can stress this enough. Our muscles and our DNA remember moments. They hold the traumatic things we have faced, and when triggered they remind of us of them. Epigenetic research shows how our ancestors traumatic experiences leave marks on our DNA makeup. These things don't necessarily change your DNA itself, but the way it operates. Our bodies hold more memories than we are aware of.
The narrative I have been telling myself about my body is a narrative about being powerless, about trauma, and a victim to societies ideals. It's the biggest sob story about a girl who was once very okay with things and then suddenly not at all.
IV.
Because I am such a visual person I developed some practices to help me see my body as it is; Once a week I would stand in front of a mirror, naked and set a timer for 5 minutes. I would stand there and tell myself all of the things I liked about my body. Both in terms of utility and in the abstract. I remind myself that come a 3 or 4 decades, what society considers beautiful will be something totally different and that my children will think the bushy eyebrow trend is hilarious and be horrified by the idea of aspiring to thigh gap. The rule is that I would always have to end by saying "you are a badass with a badass" because standing in front of a mirror naked with a timer going wasn't funny enough. (the best thing about making your own rules is you can make them, break them, and do whatever the heck you want)
During this time, I eavesdropped (shocker) on a conversation my co-workers we're having where one of them was sharing some mildly gross thing about thing their body. I think it had to with foot fungus. Which is gross but fascinating. My other co-worker commented that it was so "TMI". I mentioned this to my friend and co-worker Keri and we talked about what a high tolerance level we have for that kind of information.
Keri's conclusion in the conversation was, "Bodies are just bodies."
That may not sounds very profound but I was like, KERI SAY THAT AGAIN, THAT IS AN AMAZING STATEMENT
Can I frame it? Can I get it on a t-shirt? A mug would be great too.
 |
| I really think I'm gonna go to the BYU print shop and make a shirt if you want one |
This became my new philosophy in the re-commitment to my body.
And my re-commitment didn't look like making myself see my body in a "correct" way
It looked like changing the narrative I told myself about it.
I let myself know that I didn't have to love my body 100% of the time. I just needed to own it. And I was responsible for the story I told about it.
One of my favorite no bullshit message about bodies come from a paragraph in Anne Lammott's book, Bird by Bird, Have you ever read any of her work? She is hilarious, spectacular and I love her. In Bird by Bird, Anne describes an experience she had shopping for a new dress with her friend, Pam. Anne comes out of the dressing room to model a lavender mini dress, which she describes as "not usually my style." She stood there self conscious, although the dress fit her perfectly. She then says "Do you think it makes my hips look big?" Her friend replies slowly with, "Annie? I really don't think you have that kind of time"
ISN'T THAT JUST THE BEST. Because really. DO we have that kind of time to be concerned with how our hips look in lavender mini dresses that we wouldn't normally wear but look awesome on us?
And while on the subject of time, can we just talk about how freakin' tired I am of apologizing for how hairy I am. I do not know if I can keep up with always trying to be waxed and shaved and plucked and smooth. For the love of all things holy can we PLEASE get over women's body hair already. I truly do not have the energy to be worried about how I look in lavender mini dresses or how hairy my legs are.
V.
What I am trying to ask of us is this: Can we take the time to reevaluate the narrative we have about our bodies, not coming at it from a place of correction, but from a place of reflection. Can we step into vulnerability and talk openly about the things that make it hard to accept our bodies as they are. Can we talk about the trauma and experiences we have had that shape our body image. Can we talk about how the hypermasucline image hurts men and how oversexualization hurts women. Can we talk about how our ideal of body has evolved over time and what we can do to create safe spaces. And can we please stop thinking that we ever have the right to say anything but loving things to each other about our bodies. That is if we even have the right to comment at all?
My body is a temple and I am the god. I am not my body, but nor am I without it. My body is not a piece legislation or something to be debated. My body and sexuality is not the punchline of your joke. Sometimes I'm in love with it. Sometimes I'm neutral. Sometimes it makes me mad. My body is made up of 7,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 (7 octillion) atoms but it also sometimes doesn't let me get out of bed and tries to kill me with some weird anomaly. My body isn't a big deal most of the time, but it's also very mysterious with all it's things going on inside. My body is never an apology, it is mine. My body is simply, just a body.
Can I get an Amen?
Can I get an Amen?
 |
| This is me trying to walk the walk and not just talk the talk. Here is real life right now. Courtesy of this iphone picture. Roma's body |
Roma. I love it. Swearing leaves a mark on your cells. But I still love it.
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