Relating to our bodies

I was hanging out with a friend in her pool, just the two of us, yesterday; she is disappointed with her body and is working on becoming healthier and stronger.  I love that.  Later on I was listening to my podcast lady who shared some thoughts about the relationship we have with our bodies.  With these two conversations in mind, I asked myself the same hard question, how do I feel about my own body? And I wonder how helpful it would be for all of us to consider how we honestly feel about our bodies.  I wonder if it would motivate us to be kinder and more accepting of ourselves. And more appreciative of the gift our bodies are.

Growing up my main concern regarding my body was my skin.  I was pale and freckly in the winter months, a little more off-white and even more freckly in the summer.  I remember constantly asking my mom if my legs were too white when I wanted to wear shorts to school.  But I also remember having funny tan lines on my feet from my sandals.  I remember more than anything wanting regular skin sans freckles and hoped someday I would grow out of them.  I felt they were my curse.  As an adult, I couldn’t care less about freckles.  I actually love my skin.  I know it’s not anything great, it’s just that I have really tried to take care of it and I feel like I’m treating it well, that we have a thing.  When I was first given license to wear makeup in sixth grade, I went all out.  Blue eye shadow, purple mascara, eyeliner, pink lipstick.  I wore make up all through college and into my mothering.  I have no idea when I cut back to mascara and lipstick (and a little dab of concealer to cover my omnipresent darkish parts under my eyes).  I’m not into foundation and power as I was a teen.  I feel more real and authentic these days like I’ve come out from behind a mask.

I always hated my hair as a kid.  Short and straight like a boy.  Sometimes curled like Dorothy Hammel in a wedge on a Sunday.  I grew it out starting in 6th grade.  But I had big bangs that went back to the middle of my head.  My hair was bright blonde as a kid, but it morphed into plain brown by the time I was in jr. high, and that’s where it stayed.  I had a stint around 8th grade when I used Sun-In to lighten it.  I even permed it once.  A few years ago I had to start coloring the roots.  I also tried dark, dark brown but it felt too stark, maybe a bit Goth. So even though I love my Scottish heritage of black hair and blue eyes; it didn’t quite work for me.  I curled it incessantly in the 80s and used cans of Rave hairspray with a pick.  Just my luck, it became curly just as straight hair became a thing; so now I straighten it.  Good grief.  I finally found my signature style in college, just a chin length bob with no bangs.  I love my hair these days.  I’m not sure if the style is right on me, so I’m not saying that I love the way I look in my hair.  I’m just grateful that it’s thickish (I never understood what that was all about, who cared? But now as I’m aging, I’m glad there’s a little buffer), and I’m finally ok with plain brown, and I like running my fingers through it because it feels healthy and at ease.

I’ve always liked my blue eyes.  Except when I wanted green.  They aren’t anything special, but they mean the world to me.  I don’t know if I value any part of my body more than my eyes, and I have always tried to be very, very careful with them because I appreciate my sense of sight so much.  As far as the actual look, when women would ask me where my kids got their beautiful blue eyes I would always smile and tell them from their grandmas.

As far as my actual body size, I have always and forever been just average. It never occurred to me to think about what size my clothes were or how much I weighed.  I just got whatever size I was.  I do remember 6x because it was such a funny size.  I had no idea in the world what other people wore.  I do remember a moment in high school when we got back our graduation pictures in those green robes.  That was a turning point for me because I felt that I looked fat.  My cheeks and face have always been roundish, but with that full robe up to my neck, it didn't look like how I felt, and vowed from then on to always be cognizant of my health and to be mindful of how I treated my body.  I remember joining track and tennis when I was in high school, mostly because I felt I needed an exercise regime.  I was horrible at both, hated track and loved tennis.  So I started consciously exercising since that time (age 15) and have stuck with it nearly daily since.  As far as my height, it’s funny that I always felt tall.  I think because in elementary school I was.  And then everyone else caught up.  My sisters and many of my roommates/friends were taller than me, but now I consider myself tall even as I’ve shrunk to maybe 5’5.

Not when I was very little, and probably only because I don’t remember, but from elementary school on I felt ugly.  It was confirmed over and over to me, but I’ll always remember two idiots in the BYU stadium when I was a freshman, “Those are two of the ugliest girls I’ve ever seen.”  I’ve tried and tried to forget that, but it’s still ringing through my head nearly 30 years later.

To be really honest and personal, I thought my mastectomy and reconstruction would change things—maybe that I would finally feel more comfortable as a girl.  I have always struggled with my figure, and I attribute that directly to our culture.  Swimsuits were dreadful; I hated pools and beaches partly for that reason and always felt better in an oversized shirt. It is so sad to me that I would have such a time with something so unimportant.  I have no feeling anymore, I hate the way I look nearly 5 years after my surgeries, and I try to avoid any glimpse of myself.  I am working so hard to reconcile this.  And so I try to appreciate the good.  I was fortunate enough to be able to nurse my five children from 8-11 months each.  I’ve always been able wear all sorts of tops because I’ve always been so small, and I could easily sleep on my stomach if I wasn’t a back sleeper (but for the past 5 years it’s been excruciating to turn over in my sleep, feeling as if my muscles were being ripped from the bone).

And I admit I don't love myself in pictures.  Maybe 93% of women could say that.  Every now and then I'll find one where the inside of me and the outside of me feel like they match.  But so much of the time I'm left to scrunch my forehead and wonder where the disconnect is.  That's not how I see myself at all.  It's pretty crazy.  But I continue to post pictures because I think it's so important to be present, to be in life and to be a part of the family.  I figure people already know what I look like and people who know me know that's not what I care about anyway.

So now at nearly 48, my overall feelings about my body are good.  I am disappointed with the 10 pounds on my stomach I can’t seem to lose no matter what I do.  I’m hoping it’s the tamoxifen, but I don’t know if I’ll ever see ab muscles again in my life. And I don’t really care about all that because it’s always covered, I just don’t want to keep gaining 10 pounds a year for the next 30-40 years partly because I hate jean shopping. I’ve used massage for all the tightness in my back and chest over the past couple of years, and that has helped immensely.  My frozen shoulder is probably about 95% better.

I have to admit, I’m horrible at noticing when friends have lost or gained weight.  I know you’re all working so hard at all your diets and exercise programs, going to the gym, wearing your little watches, drinking protein drinks and toting your water bottles with you everywhere.  I can totally appreciate that and I’m inspired.  But don’t hate me because I don’t notice.  It simply is a zero to me what size your clothes are or how big your thighs are or if your hair is black or pink.  What I love is when a friend is obsessed with life instead of her figure.  I love friends who will laugh with me and go for walks with me and who will eat ice cream with me every now and then.  I want to talk about books and our families and what we’re doing.  I don’t care about arbitrary numbers on your scale or the tags of your clothes, and I certainly couldn’t care less about how many steps you’ve taken.  Just walk with me.  Come on visits with me.  Let’s find someone who needs help.  Let’s use our God-given bodies to do some good and dismiss Satan from our lives and shun his lies and traps that distract us from our real purpose on earth.

For the most part, I try to focus on the love and gratitude I feel for my body.  I don’t say I love my body in a model or look sort of way.  I love it because it is my most treasured gift.  I value it so much.  Because I have a body, I can hug and go on walks and work in the yard and make food and run errands and clean and plant flowers and decorate and read and write and have long conversations.  I have come to appreciate the things I love about my body because of what it can do for me and for others.

When I look in the mirror (with clothes on), I smile.  Not because I would necessarily choose all these parts, but because I feel content.  Of course, I’d like to go back in time and be less wrinkly.  I’d like to not make creaky noises when I get up from sitting.  I’d like to be like my friends who run fantastic races and obstacles.  I wish I loved swimming and water sports.  Or any sports.  I wish I had tanner skin maybe.  But honestly, I feel like the real me is staring back.  I feel a bond with my body, a closeness, and an acceptance and a deep love for all the ways it has served me over the years.  I feel like I’m doing my part to cherish it and tend to it, to give it rest and good food and movement.

I marveled as my body created and grew other bodies.  Pregnancy and nursing fascinated me to no end.  I couldn’t get over—even my fifth time—how incredible it was that I could house a tiny human that would grow up to be a man or a woman, that my body could create nutrition and immunity for my babies.  To have been a part of that process with God is beyond humbling.  

I wish this was what the world appreciated about the human body: its capacity to create and sustain life.  To see them as beautiful creations and instruments from God.  I wish we recognized the miracles that are going on constantly within our bodies.  Our hearts, our cells, our brains.  The way we perceive and feel and heal.  The ways we can connect with other bodies through touch and looks and closeness.  Our bodies are to be worshipped—absolutely.  Not in the twisted way Satan tries to sell to the world.  But with reverence and awe.  I think this is one of the major battles we’re fighting in the world today: how we view our bodies and what we’ll do with them.

And so I recognize the power we have—that our minds have—as we consider our relationship with our own bodies.  If we are fighting right here at home, with ourselves, how can we begin to have peace and love with others?  No matter how we may think we can have charity for others, there is absolutely no way unless we feel that charity—the pure love of Christ—for ourselves first.

If we want to know the truth about our bodies, we can ask God. 

“Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” (1 Cor. 3:16)

“And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness” (Genesis 1:26)

“But he [Christ] spake of the temple of his body” (John 2:21)

And so I believe the greatest appreciation we can show God for this incredible gift is not only our acceptance and care of it, but the desire to have his image in our countenances.  The most beautiful people in the world are not those with just the right number on the tag of their jeans or those with the most flawless skin, not even close.  True beauty comes from within, it shows in our eyes and in the light we emanate.  And so that is why I can feel comfortable and content with my body.  While I can’t change my bone structure  or get rid of my freckles, I can look to Christ.  And that’s what makes me smile when I look at myself, this knowledge that I am here, living with this instrument—this amazing body—to make a difference and to do good in the world today.