You know, the more I obsess about my weight, the worse I do.
…I just now occurs to me that the causality may run the other way – I might obsess because I’m getting heavier.
Anyway, I am currently not obsessing and, surprise, I lost some weight. Without trying. Because I am a vegan, and that’s how it works. If you avoid total shit food and just stick to the plant food, you get skinnier. Viola! Except I have this crazy self destructive streak that loves to eat even when I’m so full I ache, or when I know it’s atrocious for me (potato chips anyone?).
This has gotten me thinking about body image. I read a lot of blogs and, though my reading habits do not constitute a representative sampling of anything (except possibly self absorbed people – is anyone more self absorbed than bloggers?), I have noticed a trend among women bloggers. It is this: long, righteous, desperately optimistic and falsely confident posts about how they have decided to feel good about their bodies and reject society’s standards about weight.
God, those kill me. They just kill me. Here is why: they are so obviously lying. These posts are never one-offs. No one decided to feel good about their body and then just ran out and did it. Okay… maybe one person did. But that someone isn’t self obsessed and isn’t blogging so I wouldn’t know. The bloggers I refer to write repetitive posts, forming either periodic reaffirmals of their self-love (“This time I really mean it!”) or an ongoing series (“Today’s method for achieving self love is mindfully enjoying cheese.”), but in any case, what becomes apparent quite quickly is it isn’t working.
You can’t just decide what you think about something. You can’t. You can decide what you’re going to do, but your thoughts and opinions aren’t a matter of policy. They just happen. A good example is religion. You can’t decide to believe in God. Either you do, or you don’t. You can decide to say you believe in him, or decide to go to church, or decide to pray daily. But in your heart, your belief status is untouched. Sure, beliefs can change. But through an act of will? I’m not convinced.
So I just roll my eyes (which is the defining expression of contempt) when I read these posts. They hate their bodies today and will hate them tomorrow. Declarations otherwise are a waste of time.
Why is this so popular? Why do so many women make these declarations? I think one reason is the unacceptability of admitting how you really feel, if you dislike your body. That would make you a traitor to the gender, to feminism. It means you think women are just sex objects. I means you’re shallow. It means you’re not trying hard enough, that you’re lazy, or whiny, or passive aggressive and seeking strokes. It should just mean you’re honest, but that’s fantasy for you. You can’t always get what you want. So now we have a system where women can’t really get help for their body image concerns because they’re not even allowed to admit they have any.
I don’t know what the cure for bad body image is. One option is to change your body. Another is to change society’s conception of beautiful. A third is to change yourself inside so you truly have a different opinion. I’m sure there are plenty more. But one thing I do know, simply saying you will change your mind doesn’t work.
So, in defense of honesty, congruence, and the right of women everywhere to speak their minds, I admit that I have body image problems. There are parts of my body that I really like, and parts that I dislike intensely. “Should” isn’t a factor – this is just me, reporting reality from my point of view. I like my mouth and hair. I like my overall shape, which is curvy, but not my overall weight, which is too fat. I have what someone once referred to as a “mom-butt”, which was heart breaking to hear but totally true. My feet are very nice and when I am fit I have good legs. But I am saddled with a belly that is always round and pot-belly shaped, no matter what my weight is, and this is the part of me that I actively hate. I have a weak chin. My skin is poor and, at almost thirty, that really sucks. But I have green eyes, which are unusual, and I prize them. My fingers are short and kind of stubby. I’m average looking in terms of facial beauty, which is fine unless you want to be beautiful, which I do, and never will be.
So that’s the list, good and bad. But you know what? The truth is that, despite my flaws (which generally feel enormous to me), I like myself quite a bit. If I just met me, I’d want to be friends. And I don’t mean to say that personality makes up for looks, or that one is entirely separate from the other. It’s more like they are different aspects of my selfness and, on balance, I think I come out ahead.
But I still wish I had a flat stomach.
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