Body Shame…
The new yoga instructor everyone was raving about was good, but there was something else about her. She was short with nowhere to rest your eyes because she was all hips and boobs and flesh that migrated as she folded and pretzeled herself into various poses. She had a radiant smile and a soothing voice that made me sleepy. I think most of us — no matter our orientation — had at least a tiny crush on her. She was riveting. And beautiful.
How could that be? Nothing about her matched society’s unattainable definition (for most of us, anyway) of bodily perfection. Yet over the months in her class I saw that there was a quiet confidence about her, a union with her body that was undeniably attractive.
She somehow had not gotten the memo that her body wasn’t perfect and because of that, her beauty shined through.
For those of us who can’t conceive of this reality, body shame often starts when we’re young. My mother was a speed skater growing up, often racing her brothers and whoever else showed up at practices. But as she reached adolescence her mother informed her one summer that shorts were no longer her friend — her legs were too big and should be covered.
The thought still angers me. I envision time traveling, grabbing my young mother by the shoulders, looking her in the eye and saying, “You know what big, muscular legs are good for? Kicking ASS at speed skating. Your legs are amazing and beautiful and strong.”
But she gave up speed skating, covered her legs with dresses and pants and accepted that her legs were an embarrassment.
Unfortunately, when our mothers don’t like their bodies, it can be unwittingly handed down to us. And while my mother never told me my legs were too big, she often teased me about being flat-chested. Problem was, I never outgrew my tiny bras and have always felt deficient, like an essential part of me that makes one a woman, is missing. The world loves boobs! Women’s clothes are designed specifically for them. Ever put on a shirt and have it hang like a flour sack, like a little girl trying on mommy’s clothes? I don’t have curves and pillows where I’m “supposed” to (at least, not much).
And I have shame.
For a decade or so my “tell” was an eating disorder. Then it was sleeping around, hustling for my worthiness in ways that could never restore me. Then ultimately, it was getting married too young and looking for external solutions for what was and will always be an inside job.
Recently, I had another a-ha moment like the yoga instructor at the gym. Except this woman was shaped like me: athletic, lean, small-breasted and…confident, lovely. She wore a fitted Lycra top that did nothing to hide her cup size. YO. That was an option? She looked good. But it was never an option I’d given myself.
Author Byron Katie, known for teaching self-inquiry methods and the book Loving What Is, directs readers to ask themselves when struggling with limiting or painful beliefs, “Who would I be without this thought?”
Who would I be without the thought that my body is not OK exactly as it is? For me, the answer is, I would be someone who is free. I would take my bra off without feeling deficient, without ever wondering if I should spend thousands of dollars (and take on elective pain) to change how I look. And of course I would be proud of the legacy of strong legs I am part of, embracing my athletic frame.
Now I find myself on the lookout for women who have escaped internalizing this insidious message that our bodies must constantly be “improved,” sometimes told to us by those we love and reinforced hundreds of times a day by every women’s advertisement since…a long time. I want to meet more women who like their bodies no matter their dimensions. For those of us who struggle with eating disorders, any form of body dysmorphia, or just the exhausting pursuit of betterment, women who love themselves, who rock the body they have, show that it’s possible to step outside the battlegrounds and fully claim ourselves.
The irony is that while external influences may convince us we aren’t OK, we’re in charge of restoration. And while being remarried to a husband who leaves no question about how attractive he thinks I am is healing in some ways, integrating my body and worth can only be done by me. The challenge is that there’s often a disconnect between reason and our subconscious — what we know to be true when we think about it — and that place of inadequacy that many of us live from, often without awareness.
I’ve come to suspect that one of the best kept beauty secrets is self-love. Because when a woman believes she’s beautiful just as she is, others see it too.
Body Shame…
Research & References of Body Shame…|A&C Accounting And Tax Services
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