My Body. Stop Obsessing.

Here’s what I hate: my body.  my obsession with my body!

Here’s what I’m going to try to do:  stop obsessing. 

Here’s my not-so-unique story…

It takes place in a tiny dressing room with an ironically huge mirror…(sometimes two of them!).  Fingers breaking under the weight of hangers—must get multiple sizes of the same garment to figure out what fits.  I make sure the door is locked.  I disrobe and consider how silly I look in underwear and socks.  First pair of shorts—too tight.  Second pair—too loose in the waist.  On to the swimsuits.  I turn away from the mirror while I awkwardly stuff myself into the spandex.  Once I am all tied in and situated, I turn towards the mirror.  I still have socks on.  I suck in my stomach and turn to one side and then the other.  “Elongate,” I tell myself.  So, I  stand up on my tip-toes (as if I would wear stilettos to the pool or something.)  I furrow my brows in disgust at my flabby thighs, complete with cellulite and stretch marks. 

In the end, the suit was cute and reasonably comfortable.  I squirm out of it and put it on the “yes” pile. 

Every woman seems to lament over the condition of their body as summer rolls around.  As temperatures rise, so do our anxieties about trying on swimsuits or short shorts.  

It seems like every woman has something they don’t like about their bodies—even if you have a slim physique, you may wish for more cleavage or feel self-conscious about your long toes or something.  I may not be regarded as “fat”, but there are certainly times I feel it.  Much of this is due to the fact that media tells me I should look like a pre-pubescent girl with giant boobs.  My belly should be completely flat, my thighs should be tiny, and my muscles should be noticeably toned.  This is the standard that images everywhere tell me to strive for. 

We’ve all read articles that tell us that what we see in the media—the body we wish we had—is A COMPLETE IMPOSSIBILITY.  PHOTOSHOP PEOPLE!  We know this, and yet, we still get sad when we look in the mirror. 

Lately, I’ve been noticing how pear shaped I’m becoming.  My thighs and buttocks keep expanding and my belly is collecting fat cells of her own, so as not to be left out.  My chest however seems to be shrinking.  But, I’ve been trying to remind myself that I should not endeavor to look like a stick-girl with giant knockers.  In fact, I comforted myself the other day by telling myself that I look like a renaissance painting.  That’s right—In Paris, I saw stunning portraits of near naked renaissance gals lounging around (who does that by the way!?) and they do NOT look like malnourished pre-teens with freaky large breasts.  Instead, these women have roundish bellies, ample thighs, unenhanced bosoms and somewhat large arms.  (I think this is partly because arms are difficult for painters to get right—many of these women’s arms look like un-muscular man-arms to me, but I digress.)

The point is, I look like a curvy renaissance woman who was once considered beautiful.  But this gives me little comfort because, when the renaissance woman wasn’t lounging around with strategically placed swaths of fabric, she was covered in MANY layers of clothing which covered all her wiggly bits.  Instead, I live in 2014….the age of the plastic woman and skinny jeans. 

And so, I join the sighs of countless women as we cringe at our reflection in the mirror. 

I’m so over it! 

I just want to stop thinking about how good I do or don’t look.

I want to stop viewing other women as looking better or worse than me. 

I want to stop seeing everything in light of appearances! 

I want to think about more important, valuable, and eternal things than my thighs.

After all, this body is fading fast.  And despite what surgeons and miracle creams attempt to do, this body will shrivel up and turn into dust.  Dust!

And so, I’m trying to be mindful of what is truly important in life.  I’m trying to be intentional about focusing on my soul rather than my body.  We all know the clichés about not judging a book by it’s cover and that “it’s what’s on the inside that counts,”  however, as a culture, we are awfully focused on the exterior. 

We spend countless dollars on grooming and moisturizing and cleansing and firming.  We expend hours toning and stretching and strengthening and slimming down.  But, mostly, we give way too much brain space to thoughts of our appearance.  I do anyway. 

And, as I mentioned, I am over it.

Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to stop bathing or anything.  And I’d like to get in the habit of doing the things I need to keep my body healthy and working relatively well so that I don’t have to think about it anymore.  I mean, our bodies are precious gifts and they are meant to be USEFUL.  Ask anyone who has struggled with injury, disease or chronic pain—believe me, we want our bodies to work well.  It’s interesting that when our bodies are in peril, that’s when we start flexing our soul-muscles. 

But, I don’t want to wait for a shark to bite my arm off before I realize what is most important in life.  I want to start investing in eternal things now and that means that I need to stop obsessing about lips and legs and layers and lines and looks!

It will not be easy to turn my thoughts around once they are on the train to “thigh town”…but, each time I find myself lamenting in the mirror, I’m going to

To be continued…