While out enjoying a cocktail with a lovely friend, the two of us were accosted by an inebriated gentleman who was at least 10 years older than the both of us. I am married and was wearing my ring; my friend politely informed the man that she is a lesbian. This did little to dissuade the man; he proceeded to try to convince my friend that he would be able to steer her away from her sexual orientation. Mind you, this man had neither the face of Brad Pitt nor the charm of Clark Gable, to say the least.
Moments later, a seemingly more reasonable gentleman ventured over to engage us in conversation and rescue us from the buffoon. This man did not come across as a contender for the next Nobel Prize by any means, but he was able to hold a reasonable discussion with us while keeping his gaze leveled above our necklines. However, before we managed to conclude our discourse, he felt the need to interject with the following: "You know, you both are really attractive, but you'd be so much better looking if you had long hair."
Really? Last time I checked, my hair was very fine and thin and looked like stringy seaweed when I let it grow past my shoulders. Also, I couldn't care less whether or not this man I barely knew found me attractive. This manner of thinking drives me insane. What if I went up to men and randomly dispensed that kind of advice? What if I had told this guy, "You know, you're nice and all, but you'd be a lot more attractive if you lost 20 pounds and erased 10 years off of your face." I mean, hey--that's the truth, and it's just my honest opinion! Doesn't that make it okay to say something insulting? And while I'm on the subject, why is it that whenever a woman wants to cut her hair, at least five people need to warn her that her husband might get upset? As it turns out, my husband prefers my hair short, but be that as it may, I have worn it long, short, blonde, red, brown, or purple as the mood struck me. It's only hair. Taking this one step further, what about women who have no hair due to illness or conditions like alopecia? Are they supposed to feel revolting or unfeminine because they aren't able to grow this lustrous cascade of man-pleasing ornamentation? I guess it's important for me to have long hair for my man to grab onto after he clubs me over the head and drags me back to his cave while donning his loincloth.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
"I've got a perfect body, though sometimes I forget. I've got a perfect body, 'cause my eyelashes catch my sweat." ~ Regina Spektor
To quote another lovely female songstress, Fiona Apple, your body is an "extraordinary machine." As a woman, it doesn't matter if you have cellulite, stretch marks, or varicose veins. What is important is that your body is a vessel with which you can create many things....art, music, poetry, and for many, life, if you choose to create it. You should think of your body as a remarkable gift; a vehicle for your talents, or your spirit's outlet. Energy flows through you, and it is up to you to channel it and release it in ways that make your world more beautiful.
I don't necessarily identify myself as a Christian, but I like this quote from the book of Thomas: Jesus said, "If you bring forth what is within you, what you have will save you. If you do not have that within you, what you do not have within you [will] kill you." I don't want to hide anything about myself, whether it's my cellulite, my political beliefs, or my musical tastes. Feeling as though you have something to hide breeds resentment inside of you, and the people around you can feel it. If you accept yourself, others will have no choice but to follow suit....and if they don't, it won't matter anymore. Only you have the power to be your perfect self.
And your eyelashes catch your sweat. Yes, they do, they do-oo-oo-oo-oo.... :)
I don't necessarily identify myself as a Christian, but I like this quote from the book of Thomas: Jesus said, "If you bring forth what is within you, what you have will save you. If you do not have that within you, what you do not have within you [will] kill you." I don't want to hide anything about myself, whether it's my cellulite, my political beliefs, or my musical tastes. Feeling as though you have something to hide breeds resentment inside of you, and the people around you can feel it. If you accept yourself, others will have no choice but to follow suit....and if they don't, it won't matter anymore. Only you have the power to be your perfect self.
And your eyelashes catch your sweat. Yes, they do, they do-oo-oo-oo-oo.... :)
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Little Fat One
When I was 11, the boys in my sixth grade class started calling me "Little Fat One." During Social Studies class one day, we were discussing Native Americans, and I mentioned that there were some Native Americans among my French Canadian ancestors. One boy said, "What is your Native American name--'Little Fat One?'" I got upset, so of course the name stuck. None of my teachers came to my aid, even when I was taunted so mercilessly that I wept openly in class. I wasn't actually overweight, not that it matters. The one nice boy in my class that year invited me to a pool party at his house, and the rest of the boys at the party called me "Little Fat One" in front of the host's mother. They said, "Hey, Mrs. F., that's 'Little Fat One.'" And she said, "Oh, really?" That was all. I was just standing there, minding my own business, waiting to be picked up.
My sixth grade experience marked the birth of my hatred of my own body. I remember drawing an outline of my silhouette with all of my newly developed curves over-exaggerated as I perceived them. I was deeply ashamed of my body, to the point that I refused to let my own mother see me naked because I feared that she, too, would be ashamed of me. I would wear large, baggy shirts to school every day, and underneath them I would fasten a belt around the waist of my pants so tightly that it would squish my stomach in. At home, I would sometimes hide in my room to eat a snack because I had somehow convinced myself that if anyone saw me eating a snack, they would blame me for my appearance. In seventh grade, some girls who had been friends of mine decided to gang up on me and start calling me "Little Fat One," too. The shame and pain and fear grew larger, like a black pit of hatred festering in my stomach. I hated myself. I hated my body. I hated the cruel children who harassed me, and I hated the adults who didn't stick up for me even more.
It is more painful for me to write this than I thought it would be. Sometimes I am able to think of the name "Little Fat One" and laugh about it. I've considered using it as an album title or a screen name more than once. I am sometimes able to see the humor in taking the name and really making it my own, thereby eliminating its power over me. Still, 20 years later, when I write about how awful it made me feel, I get that hollow, frightened, empty feeling in my chest.
Recently, six Massachusetts teenagers were charged with bullying a classmate, 14-year-old Phoebe Prince, to the point that she committed suicide. A lot of people have questioned these charges with comments along the lines of, "Kids can be cruel. Phoebe had mental problems. Bullying is normal." My question is, how many children have to become depressed or die before we as adults stop regarding bullying as an acceptable norm? I'm not suggesting that the six teens involved in bullying Phoebe Prince should be the scapegoats for all bullying throughout the history of the world, but I do believe that it is right that the enormity of the impact of their actions should not be allowed to escape them. Why is it that people so often rush to defend bullies? Is it because they need to believe that their own mistreatment of others is acceptable? Is this life truly a popularity contest? Are some of us less human than others?
To be continued....
My sixth grade experience marked the birth of my hatred of my own body. I remember drawing an outline of my silhouette with all of my newly developed curves over-exaggerated as I perceived them. I was deeply ashamed of my body, to the point that I refused to let my own mother see me naked because I feared that she, too, would be ashamed of me. I would wear large, baggy shirts to school every day, and underneath them I would fasten a belt around the waist of my pants so tightly that it would squish my stomach in. At home, I would sometimes hide in my room to eat a snack because I had somehow convinced myself that if anyone saw me eating a snack, they would blame me for my appearance. In seventh grade, some girls who had been friends of mine decided to gang up on me and start calling me "Little Fat One," too. The shame and pain and fear grew larger, like a black pit of hatred festering in my stomach. I hated myself. I hated my body. I hated the cruel children who harassed me, and I hated the adults who didn't stick up for me even more.
It is more painful for me to write this than I thought it would be. Sometimes I am able to think of the name "Little Fat One" and laugh about it. I've considered using it as an album title or a screen name more than once. I am sometimes able to see the humor in taking the name and really making it my own, thereby eliminating its power over me. Still, 20 years later, when I write about how awful it made me feel, I get that hollow, frightened, empty feeling in my chest.
Recently, six Massachusetts teenagers were charged with bullying a classmate, 14-year-old Phoebe Prince, to the point that she committed suicide. A lot of people have questioned these charges with comments along the lines of, "Kids can be cruel. Phoebe had mental problems. Bullying is normal." My question is, how many children have to become depressed or die before we as adults stop regarding bullying as an acceptable norm? I'm not suggesting that the six teens involved in bullying Phoebe Prince should be the scapegoats for all bullying throughout the history of the world, but I do believe that it is right that the enormity of the impact of their actions should not be allowed to escape them. Why is it that people so often rush to defend bullies? Is it because they need to believe that their own mistreatment of others is acceptable? Is this life truly a popularity contest? Are some of us less human than others?
To be continued....
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Shame layers
Hello, and welcome to the Cellulite Project. I'm excited to be embarking on this journey: a journey of self-acceptance. I hope that you will join me in endeavoring to love and accept every inch of yourself and to let go of any panic, fear, and shame you may have about your body.
Your body is your spirit's home during this lifetime. It is not who you are. If you listen to your body's needs and treat it well, it can reward you with good health, dexterity, and long life. Punishing your body with drastic diets and constant inner self-criticism damages your spirit and your health.
I first encountered my cellulite when I was about 13 years old. I put on a bathing suit for the first time that summer in preparation for a swim in a friend's backyard pool. When I stepped outside and into the sun, I looked down and noticed a dimple on my left thigh. That same dimple remains there to this day, along with plenty of others.
Over the years, I have fought that cellulite in every way I could think of. I never tried liposuction, because I heard that the procedure did not effectively reduce the appearance of cellulite. I did attempt to diet and exercise the cellulite away; however, I have never been overweight. No matter how thin or fit I became, the cellulite never disappeared.
Cellulite is hereditary. I am not out of shape. I regularly practice Bikram yoga, along with frequent cardio workouts on the elliptical machine. My BMI (or body mass index, which measures body fat) is 20. A healthy BMI is between 18.5 and 24.9.
The messages that women get from the media tell us that we should be horribly ashamed of our cellulite, even though the majority of adult women have it. A few years ago, Jennifer Love Hewitt was criticized for having cellulite after being photographed in a bikini. The insults abounded, and the comments about her photos online were scathing. One went so far as to suggest that Ms. Hewitt ought to go and kill herself. She claimed to be a size 2 at the time, and many people accused her of lying.
I figured she was probably telling the truth. I also wear a size 2. Here on this blog, you can see two photos of the back of my thighs that were taken on the same day, with the same camera. Neither have been retouched. I'll let those photos speak for themselves. Needless to say, I do not think that Jennifer Love Hewitt, myself, or anyone else should not have the right to live because of the appearance of her thighs.
There are so many layers of shame involved in body image issues. First, the media tells us that we are supposed to live up to some impossible ideal of a perfect body. Many women struggle with trying to attain that ideal. Other women feel so far removed from that ideal that they feel completely marginalized. This dichotomy sends women into a power struggle that often puts us at odds with one another as we fight to look the best. Meanwhile, as we mature, some of us also begin to feel ashamed that we have fallen prey to the media's messages and to our own inner critics. We berate ourselves for being so insecure, when so many other things in our lives are more important, such as our families, our friends, our careers, or our spirituality. We know that our cellulite is not who we are, but the shame, fear, and panic when we look in the mirror remain. These feelings are partially to blame for the "obesity epidemic" in the U.S. that we hear about constantly. In desperation to feel good about themselves, some people turn to food as comfort. They develop an unnatural relationship with food, wherein food is given more power than it should be allowed to wield. Food exists in order to support life. It does not exist to define us, humiliate us, or control us.
Today, I decided that I have a right to feel good about myself. I decided that it was time to say goodbye to the fear and the shame. They may creep back up on me from time to time, but self-growth is a constant process. Posting a picture of my cellulite on the internet feels exhilarating. At first, the thought of allowing anyone to see a photo of my cellulite sent me into a panic. But then I thought, what will happen if everyone in the world sees a picture of my cellulite? And the answer that came to me was, nothing much. I will still have my family, and I will still have my friends. I will still have my talents and my spirituality. I will still look exactly the same when I see myself in the mirror tomorrow morning. If judgments come, let them. I am free to be me.
Your body is your spirit's home during this lifetime. It is not who you are. If you listen to your body's needs and treat it well, it can reward you with good health, dexterity, and long life. Punishing your body with drastic diets and constant inner self-criticism damages your spirit and your health.
I first encountered my cellulite when I was about 13 years old. I put on a bathing suit for the first time that summer in preparation for a swim in a friend's backyard pool. When I stepped outside and into the sun, I looked down and noticed a dimple on my left thigh. That same dimple remains there to this day, along with plenty of others.
Over the years, I have fought that cellulite in every way I could think of. I never tried liposuction, because I heard that the procedure did not effectively reduce the appearance of cellulite. I did attempt to diet and exercise the cellulite away; however, I have never been overweight. No matter how thin or fit I became, the cellulite never disappeared.
Cellulite is hereditary. I am not out of shape. I regularly practice Bikram yoga, along with frequent cardio workouts on the elliptical machine. My BMI (or body mass index, which measures body fat) is 20. A healthy BMI is between 18.5 and 24.9.
The messages that women get from the media tell us that we should be horribly ashamed of our cellulite, even though the majority of adult women have it. A few years ago, Jennifer Love Hewitt was criticized for having cellulite after being photographed in a bikini. The insults abounded, and the comments about her photos online were scathing. One went so far as to suggest that Ms. Hewitt ought to go and kill herself. She claimed to be a size 2 at the time, and many people accused her of lying.
I figured she was probably telling the truth. I also wear a size 2. Here on this blog, you can see two photos of the back of my thighs that were taken on the same day, with the same camera. Neither have been retouched. I'll let those photos speak for themselves. Needless to say, I do not think that Jennifer Love Hewitt, myself, or anyone else should not have the right to live because of the appearance of her thighs.
There are so many layers of shame involved in body image issues. First, the media tells us that we are supposed to live up to some impossible ideal of a perfect body. Many women struggle with trying to attain that ideal. Other women feel so far removed from that ideal that they feel completely marginalized. This dichotomy sends women into a power struggle that often puts us at odds with one another as we fight to look the best. Meanwhile, as we mature, some of us also begin to feel ashamed that we have fallen prey to the media's messages and to our own inner critics. We berate ourselves for being so insecure, when so many other things in our lives are more important, such as our families, our friends, our careers, or our spirituality. We know that our cellulite is not who we are, but the shame, fear, and panic when we look in the mirror remain. These feelings are partially to blame for the "obesity epidemic" in the U.S. that we hear about constantly. In desperation to feel good about themselves, some people turn to food as comfort. They develop an unnatural relationship with food, wherein food is given more power than it should be allowed to wield. Food exists in order to support life. It does not exist to define us, humiliate us, or control us.
Today, I decided that I have a right to feel good about myself. I decided that it was time to say goodbye to the fear and the shame. They may creep back up on me from time to time, but self-growth is a constant process. Posting a picture of my cellulite on the internet feels exhilarating. At first, the thought of allowing anyone to see a photo of my cellulite sent me into a panic. But then I thought, what will happen if everyone in the world sees a picture of my cellulite? And the answer that came to me was, nothing much. I will still have my family, and I will still have my friends. I will still have my talents and my spirituality. I will still look exactly the same when I see myself in the mirror tomorrow morning. If judgments come, let them. I am free to be me.
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