I saw this article online and it so resonated with my self image I had to share it. Its a bit long but so worth the read I think.
"Naked, I stood at the closet doors with the lights on and made myself
ready. I took a deep breath and positioned the mirrors so I could see
all
of me. I consciously worked to remove my self-believed inner image. I
opened my eyes and looked very carefully at my body. And my heart
lurched at the truth: I am not a young woman anymore. I am a woman
well-lived. My body tells of all the years she has carried my spirit
through life.
I am a 59-year-old woman in great health and in good
physical shape. I stand five-feet, nine-inches tall and weigh 135
pounds. I wear a size six in both jeans and panties, and my breasts are
nowhere near my navel. In fact, they still struggle to make it full-up
in a B-cup bra. My thighs are no longer velvet and my buttocks have
dimples. My upper arms wobble a bit and my skin shows the marks of the
sun. There is a softness around my waist that is no longer perfectly
taut, and the pout of my abdomen attests to a c-section that took its
bikini flatness -- but gave me a son.
Why this brutal scrutiny of
myself? It was time to counter the damage of my culture, my own
soft-held fear and to pour warm love on my own soul. It was time to
claim every mark and not-perfect inch of my own body -- a body that had
been called "too wrinkled" by a man who was fetched by my energy and my
mind, but did not like the bare truth of me. His name was Dave and he
was 55 years old.
We met on a dating site. Dave was interesting,
gentlemanly and bright. He held my hand and toured with me on long
bicycle rides. He drove many miles to come to my door. He made meals for
us both and ruffled my dog's happy head. I was enticed and longed for
the full knowing of this man. And so, we planned a weekend together.
That's when things got confusing, unspoken and just-not-quite there. We
went to bed in a couple's way -- unclothed and touching -- all parts
near. Kisses were shared and sleep came in hugs. I attempted more
intimacy throughout the weekend and was deterred each time.
On
Monday evening over the phone, I asked this man who had shared my bed
for three nights running why we had not made love. "Your body is too
wrinkly," he said without a pause. "I have spoiled myself over the years
with young women. I just can't get excited with you. I love your energy
and your laughter. I like your head and your heart. But, I just can't
deal with your body."
I was stunned. The hurt would come later. I
asked him slowly and carefully if he found my body hard to look at. He
said yes. "So, this means seeing me naked was troublesome to you?" I
asked. He told me he had just looked away. And when the lights were out,
he pretended my body was younger -- that I was younger. My breath came
deep and full as I processed this information. My face blazed as I felt
embarrassed and shamed by memories of my easy nakedness with him in days
just passed.
We talked for some time more, my head reeling at the
content of the conversation. He spoke of special stockings and clothing
that would "hide" my years. He blithely told me he loved "little black
dresses" and strappy shoes. He said my hair was not long and flowing as
he preferred, but that was okay because it was "cool looking." I felt
like a Barbie Doll on acid as I listened to this man. He was totally
oblivious to the viciousness of his words. He had turned me into an
object to be dressed and positioned to provide satisfaction for his
ideas of what female sexual perfection should be.
He explained
that now that I knew what was required, we could have a great time in
the bedroom. I told him no. I would not hide from my own body. I would
not wear outfits to make my body more "tolerable." I would not undress
in the dark or shower with the bathroom door closed. I would not
diminish myself for him -- or for anyone. My body is beautiful and it
goes along with my mind and my heart.
When I told Dave that I
never wanted to see or hear from him again, he was confused and
complained that I was making a big deal out of nothing. He whined that I
had taken a small part of our relationship and made it a major event. I
didn't even want to try to explain the hurt and the horror that he had
inflicted upon me. I actually felt sickly sorry for this man as I hung
up the phone. It was after this call that I went to the bedroom and
gently stripped off my clothes.
As I looked in the mirror --
clear-eyed and brave -- I claimed every inch of my body with love, honor
and deep care. This body is me. She has held my soul and carried my
heart for all of my days. Each wrinkle and imperfection is a badge of my
living and of my giving of life. With tears in my eyes, I hugged myself
close. I said thank you to God for the gift of my body and my life. And
I said thank you to a sad man named Dave for reminding me of how
precious it all is."
So upon reading it most feel horror and dislike for Dave because of how he treated this lovely woman. The problem for me is...I am also like Dave. I am not the woman that stands at the mirror and sees beauty and honor. I am finding each year, while yes I am fit and try hard to stay active, the elasticity in my skin is simply letting go. Much quicker than other women my age as I am constantly comparing friends skin to my own. While I have always embraced the sun I believe its just genetics and I received the booby prize. Society has put such a value on appearance and looking younger than you really are I dont know how to change. I believe living in So Cal and especially the desert where we tend to wear less clothing makes it even more difficult. There are soooo many billboards along side the roads taunting face lifts, fat suctions, anti aging processes...as if you aging naturally is ugly and unacceptable. I am flawed to be so hard on a body that has given me such a rich life. I have skied down mountains, ice skated on lakes, rollerskated around beaches, biked hundreds of miles, hiked in several states, kayaked in the NW, flown all over the world, and practiced yoga and fitness with this body. Yet all I see is the wrapper holding it together is worn and wrinkled. Why is that more important than what it has made possible in my life time? But how do I get to the author's level of comfort and acceptance? Its an ongoing process in my head and no one can help me see my beauty but myself. We all need to love who we are inside
and out but its just easier for some than others.
Thanks for dropping by and I hope when you look in the mirror you love the face and body looking back.
