Beauty

Yesterday was a humdinger of day for self-esteem.  I'd been wanting to go to a local TJ Maxx that one of my friends had recommended -- I thought I might pick up some new clothing for my trip to the reunion.  You can't wear a red dress to EVERY event...

I think I've mentioned before how much I hate shopping -- if I haven't, it's A LOT. I don't think I know what looks nice on me and I desperately try to remember "tips" from the various What Not to Wear episodes I used to watch.  One of my good friends stopped by one day while it was on and thought it was really funny to see me watching it because she hadn't had me pegged as a fashionista.  Wonder why?  ;-)

Anyway, I have no patience for the TJ Maxx style of shopping, where you have to go through rack upon rack of misplaced clothes to find anything.  Compounding that problem is that I generally hate the clothing in the sizes I can wear and am attracted instead to styles of clothing that would look lovely on fashion models (as much as I fight against it, I know that I'm prey to common standards of beauty).  At the end of my initial pass of the offerings, I had chosen five things to try on:

From left to right, these are a sweater dress, a cropped open-front cardigan, a thigh-length open navy blue cardigan, a black-with-white polka-dots blouse, and a black sweater with a boat neck and elbow-length sleeves.

As I composed this photograph (and no, I'm not my sister-in-law who has a painterly eye for photography and takes some of the most wonderful pictures you could imagine -- go check her blog out, y'all), something struck me.  All these pieces have some things in common:

1. They are all on the dark side of the color scale -- I have two brownish things, one dark navy thing, and two black things.  Where are the colors?  Where is the vitality?  Where is the fun?
2. They are all shapeless.
3. They all looked awful on me.  The sweater dress was a joke.  Not a good style for me.  The navy blue sweater made me look washed out and I couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be.  The black-polka-dotted blouse didn't fit (there are some disadvantages to being, um, well-endowed, despite what my husband would say).  The black sweater was weirdly ruched in all the wrong places.  The brown cardigan was the only possibility I considered (and forgive this awful selfie):

See, this is the crap I have to put up with in the dressing room!  

I did (sort of) like the sweater and was going to buy it.  Nonetheles, I felt beaten down.  I called my husband to say hi, responding to his "how's it going" with "I'm in the throes of self-hatred" and then decided to make myself feel better by looking at some of the other fun things they have at TJ Maxx.  I ended up with a cart full of the sweater, a platter, a Misto Olive Oil sprayer, a hand soap/moisturizer duo in a wire holder, and an adorable little teal glass tchotchke (inspired by my same sister-in-law's house, which I visited this weekend for a stuffed-animal tea party). I went to stand in line, and thank God I looked at my watch -- I had 20 minutes to get to the kids' school from the store, a trip which Google Maps now tells me is a 24 minute trip in good traffic.  Saved myself at least fifty self-pity dollars there.  Whew.  

Undeterred, I'm going out again, this time to a new shop that I have not heard of before. They are evidently having a Buy One Get One for five dollars sale.

And now for something completely related:  This story from Rockefeller Center (the news show with Brian Williams) really touched me.  It's all about seeing Beauty in a new way.  

Just the way you are

One of my favorite songs of all time is Billy Joel's "Just the Way You Are".  It brings back memories of lying on the living room carpet, mooning over the future Mr. Right who would love me just the way I am.  (Dear Reader, I married him.)

As you click on that link there and remember the wonderousness of the saxophone, an instrument which is sadly silent in pop music these days, get ready for another God smack story.  It happens to me ALL.THE.TIME.

I recently listened to a talk on body image and one of the things the person was saying was that it is important to accept and love your body (not just your "self", your "mind", your "I", your "ego", your "soul", but your BODY) the way it is right now.  She suggested leaving little notes and affirmations for yourself where you can see them, as you internalize this message.

So, here is mine, perched in the corner of my bathroom mirror, both upstairs and downstairs:

Love the pajamas and glasses and messed up hair, and the view of my showerhead in the background.  Sigh.

But, despite the fact that I'm wearing flannel pajamas over a camisole in AUGUST and complaining about my glasses being on and my messed up hairdo, I am trying to take this message into my conscious and unconscious mind.  I really am okay.  I really am okay just the way I am now.  Of course, I don't believe that, but I think it bears repeating, so I will repeat it.

That's part 1 of the God smack.

Part 2 is this:

A central article in the current issues of Weight Watchers Magazine is all about how we talk badly about our bodies and hate the way we look and how this is both unhealthy, unkind, and counterproductive.  

Part 3 is that I got an email from the lovely Heather K Jones, linking to her latest video, entitled "What To Do If You Hate Your Body."  I have to listen to it again.  Heather makes a lot of sense.

It's 1:18, dear Reader.  Writing blog posts is evidently what I do when my husband is away.  But I have to go download the dreaded Tess of the D'Urbervilles and get started on it for next month's book club.  I vow to vanquish it this time, dear Reader.  It's one of my least favorites and I've been assigned to read it at least twice in my life and, I think, have tried it on my own at least once.  But the promise of a good book discussion and a night out with the ladies is a strong inducement.  

I'm Unkind to Myself, Even in My Dreams

Last night, I woke from a crazy dream at four in the morning.  I promised myself that I would remember enough of it that I could write about it today.  It's always dodgy to try to convey dreams to other people.  Things that are logical in the context of the dream are nonsensical in real life; things that seem significant are just confusing in the retelling.  Nonetheless, here goes:

I was in a library looking at a (nonexistent) viewbook from college.  It was a compilation of photos from my senior year, kind of like a yearbook, filled only with pictures of seniors.  In it, I found a photo that has never existed anud would never ever have existed, even in my wild and crazy college days.  I was wearing a cute little bikini in a hot pink and white harlequin pattern and was standing sort of twisted away from the camera, so that the part of my body most visible in the picture was the side of my torso.  As I encountered this (imaginary) picture of myself from my senior year, I had a very strange double reaction.  On one hand, I looked at this person with happiness -- "oh, there you are!" "You looked wonderful!" "What a cute bikini, whatever happened to that?" and on the other, I began to pick out all the flaws in the picture "oh my gosh, you can't see my ribs," "what in the hell was I thinking, wearing a bikini?," "I'm embarrassed for myself."

When I woke up, I marveled at the fact that I am so adept at self-criticism that I can do it in my sleep.

My lovely cousin, Simba (nickname) recently sent me a message on Facebook.  She said,

I read your wrecklamation blog whenever you write one and am so proud of your determination and perseverance in working on a healthy lifestyle. It is so important for the girls to see you making good choices and they need to know how badass their mom is when she sets her mind on something. I just can't help but notice that you rarely talk about all the things that make you amazing. I hope you know all of them- it's easy to focus on how far we have to go instead of being proud of how far we've already come. I do that too. I just wanted to share this little video with you because I just love it. I actually do this with Jessica sometime and I hope you'll join us.

I think I need to take Simba (and Jessica) seriously and do the little "I'm awesome" dance every morning.  I don't really know where the self-criticism comes from -- maybe from my family's peasant beginnings where, if you call attention to your good qualities, the pooka might come and stick you one in your eye for your boldness.  Maybe it's that old Irish begrudgery.  Well, you know what they say about that -- and if you don't, it's that old English four-letter word that can be every part of speech (and start's with an "f") the begrudgers.

Gulp

Well, I took the plunge and registered for my college reunion which is taking place in Irving, TX at the beginning of October.

The idea is making me so nervous.  When I saw pictures from the last reunion, I really wanted to cry.  The person in those pictures is not the person I think I am.  I had a good time, but I felt like everyone was secretly commenting to themselves how absolutely terrible I looked.  I'm still scared and disappointed in myself because I had wanted to be in a different place, weight and health-wise, than I am.

But, I decided to concentrate on the fact that I always have a good time with the class of 1988 and that, in their company, I became the person I am today.  I started with a good foundation, a happy childhood in an idyllic setting, a loving family with just enough of the kookiness factor to be fun.  But the University of Dallas was the first place where I felt that the true me stepped up and introduced herself.  I was able to love school and learning there without being denigrated as a brain.  I was able to be innocent and goofy and sweet and awkward and not be considered a nerd (okay, maybe I was considered a nerd, but we all kind of prided ourselves on the nerd factor -- one of the cheers for our basketball team included the word "Schopenhauer").  I was able to be pious and loving and faithful to God and not be called a goody-goody.  At UD, I made friendships that last to this day, 25 years later (gulp).  And for that I'm grateful and because of that, I'm trusting that my friends won't judge me and that people who do judge me can just go to hell (Just kidding).  So, because I am going to Texas, to parties and such (not my usual lifestyle, I can assure you), I needed a new outfit or two.

Usually, I wear clothes that scream "please don't look at me."  My fashion sense, never well-developed, has run and hidden its head.  Clothes shopping has always been excruciatingly boring for me... now it's just excruciating.  But today, I bought something completely out of character for me.  It's a dress that screams "look at me".  I hope that it looks nice on me when it arrives and I hope that I have the nerve to wear it:

With the leather midsection, it kind of has a Dune vibe, very appropriate for a reunion of a 1980s class.

Where Your Mind Is, There Shall Your Body Go Also*

The other day, I  got an email from one of my favorite online resources, Heather K. Jones. The title intrigued me for sure, so I had to click on the link. What I found astounded me:




How did this woman get into my head? How does she know the script? I started taking notes, which I titled, "be a conscious thinker".  Here they are, reproduced without correction. I think it's telling how I can't even SPELL the word positive when I'm typing quickly.

be a conscious thinker. 

Directing your thoughts in a positive direction as often s you can.

Most people set a goal and assume thye’ll be happy when they get there. 

Are you constantly thinking bout what a struggle it is, how hard it is to lose weight and how mch you have to lose and how it’s always been difficult to you.

OR are you thinking

How far you have come

How much you have learned. 

How you know you have the tools to et where you want to go

How awesome it will feel once you get there.

ARE you thinking:

Are you constantly complaining about your body and how it doesn’t fit into the clothese you want and doesn’t do what you want

OR are you thinking about all the great things your body does for you every day to keep you alive?

Are you in a negative place or a poisitive place?

How to get t the poisitive place.  Negative energy keeps you stuck where you are?

How can you switch to a more positive mode?

I'm eagerly awaiting Heather's next installment.  In the meantime, I actually bit the bullet and bought her "What's Your Diet Type" ebook series.  I found out that I am what she calls a "Diet Feeler".  When I read the challenges that this personality type to my sister, she just laughed because they were all so true of me.

‣ Ignoring Your Own Needs

‣ Emotional Eating

‣ Denial of Your Health Issues

‣ Social Food Struggles

‣ Trouble Staying Self-Motivated

‣ Low Self-Esteem

‣ Waiting for “Tomorrow”

So far, it's been interesting and enlightening.  I like Heather's approach, probably because I have discovered about myself that this whole thing is in my head and is playing itself out on the field of my body. 

I also like the association Heather has with Gina Homulka of Skinnytaste.  In fact, I'm so incredibly motivated that I actually had her "Avocado Egg Salad" for lunch.  This will be shocking to anyone who knows me. I hate mayonnaise with a passion (I actually don't have any in the house at all and left it out of this recipe) and I also hate avocados... so much so that it's a joke between some friends and me that they serve avocado every time I see them because they really don't like me very much. I chose to try this recipe because I've been hearing for years that avocados are good for you.  This was actually quite good and I'd planned to have it for lunch tomorrow too, but Chickadee #2, in a zeal of "helping out" while I was working this afternoon, emptied the leftovers into the trashcan.


*Sorry, Jesus, for cribbing your line about God and Mammon:  "Where your treasure is, there shall your heart be also"

Flawless Girl

The other day, I saw a beautiful video from Dove about women's perceptions of themselves.  It's part of their Campaign for Real Beauty.  It was very moving and poignant, and I've been wondering how others would describe me to a forensic artist.  I look at my face and see its flaws - the skin tone that is muted, the circles under my eyes, the falling chin, the short eyelashes and small eyes and mouth.  I try not to look too closely:

(FYI, the poem on the whiteboard to my left is James Joyce's Go Seek Her Out, which I put on my poetry whiteboard in dual honor of Valentine's Day and St. Patrick's Day).  Guess I need to change to T.S. Eliot's opening lines of The Waste Land or Chaucer's opening lines of The Canterbury Tales.  I try to keep it fresh.  I'm hoping the chickadees will learn to love poetry by osmosis.)

Right now, my daughters are watching Phineas and Ferb, probably the only program they like than I can stand (with the exception of the Science Channel's How It's Made).  The episode is called "Attack of the 50 Foot Sister" and is a fantastic send up of the unreasonable expectations women have of themselves and how the "beauty industry" feeds their insecurities.  My favorite is the song, "Flawless Girl"

Psalm 139.  Psalm 139.  Psalm 139. 

I know I'll never be a flawless girl.  And really, I don't want to be -- I'd rather be able to run out of the house to pick up the girls after a long day of spring cleaning in a tunic and pj bottoms (sadly, my outfit of today).  But the pressure is still there. 

Psalm 139 works for me.

Beginnings

Me:
wreck (\ˈrek\)
something disabled or in a state of ruin or dilapidation; also : a person or animal of broken constitution, health, or spirits
My Project:
rec·la·ma·tion (\ˌre-klə-ˈmā-shən\)
the act or process of reclaiming: as a: reformation, rehabilitation b: restoration to use : recovery

See this picture? THIS is the person I’m trying to reclaim – that beautiful, funny, intense, hopeful young woman. Look at the spark in her eyes. Look at the confidence. She’s happy in her body, though she doesn’t know it. She thinks she looks great – loves her costume, mainly because it consists of a kimono bathrobe she made for herself (she’s very proud because she’s not much of a seamstress) and a bedsheet she took off her bunkbed in the dorm. It’s Carnivale in Rome circa 1986; she’s surrounded by friends and fellow intellectual seekers. She walks miles sightseeing most days, drinks water from drinking water spigots marked SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus), “The Senate and People of Rome.” It thrills her to know that she’s drinking water from the same aquifers tapped into by the Romans, from fountains marked with the same acronym used by the Roman Empire on all its public works. She’s happy, carefree, integrated.

That’s who I want to be, although I hope that, twenty-odd years later, I can recognize my good fortune for what it is and can be a little less neurotic about my body and my looks. Back in high school, I always felt inferior to the cheerleaders who were my high school’s (and probably yours) standards of beauty. I had breasts! How embarrassing! I had hips! Even worse! I had an hourglass figure! Oh no! I didn’t recognize that I was at the peak of my phsyical form, with healthy skin, beautiful hair, a nice body, a sharp mind.

Ah – there’s the problem. I was so cerebral then it was frightening. I’m not sure how I got be so divided from my own physicality, but I seemed to strike a pact with my body in seventh grade or so – “I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone.” I gave my body the fuel it needed to be happy, the minimal exercise it neeeded to be healthy, and then I didn’t want to hear any more from it. For years, this way of working actually worked. I could devote my time and attention to what REALLY mattered – succeeding academically, devoting time to my friends and family, thinking my thinks.

And then it stopped working.

My metabolism slowed down. I aged. I had children and became a stay at home mom. And here I am today. Now that I have become so overweight that I could stand to lose the equivalent of one of those tenth grade cheerleaders I so envied, I’m starting this blog as a way to be more accountable to myself. If anyone reads this, it will be bonus motivation because, even more than I don’t like to fail, I don’t like to be SEEN to fail. Ironic, isn’t it, since I have written my failure to stay healthy all over my body. But these are some of the contradictions I’ll be working through.

Welcome to Wrecklamation.