Why do I care?

So it’s nearly the end of May. The month I had set aside to get to love my lardy arse. How well have I been doing? Well aside from the caressing my lovely body every morning in the shower, as if I’m advertising the shower gel on telly,  I also started to take note of how I talked to myself about myself and let me tell you: I can be a real bitch to me, sometimes. How can I be nice as pie to others and so catty about myself? I don’t have a body as such, I’m just a bunch of flaws. Well now not so much. I have saddlebags and they are as personal to me as my eyebrows.

I still lavish my wobbly bits with the care they deserve and have become a little more accepting of them, although I still have bad days, I have to admit. I can walk naked around the house in front the Sous Chef with complete confidence, although I remain afraid of him catching a glimpse of my behind (lest he turn to stone) so it’s full frontal nudity only as yet but I’m working on it.

Now, this might make me a raging hypocrite (go ahead, judge) but while I’ve been addressing these body image issues, I’ve also been working on losing some extra pounds (even though I’m not overweight – yeah, I know) and amazingly I have lost a bit (I’m not saying how much, cos that’s not important. Suffice to say it’s more than 1lb but less then 10, so no worrying that I’m wasting away or anything, ok?)

I weighed myself recently and was a bit disappointed with seeing the same old numbers despite my efforts. I get really close to an arbitrary ‘wished-for’ number only to bounce back upwards sharply, having it snatched from my reach.

Then I thought: c’mon, this isn’t going to matter in a few week’s time. I realised I’ve become accustomed to seeing a certain number as a high one and yet I used to think of it as a low number. Heck, I was once MUCH  heavier than that (September 2008). I wasn’t a worse person then, so why the worry? The only thing that’s changed is time. If  today’s number is a ‘bad number’ today, why did I think good a month ago? What makes it so bad today?

So I’m just not gonna sweat this and just carry on as I’ve been doing. It’s not like I’m gaining weight, so I don’t have to change anything. Even if how much I weigh now turns out to be an absolute and I never get below it , I’ll just have to accept that my body has its reasons for not wanting to go under that, and what I want is not necessarily what is right or good for me.

I have to remember that in terms of health and body composition, I’m in pretty good shape. In terms of the fashion industry and media-perpetuated ideal of womanhood, I am not. But which of those two is the more important? Ok, we know the answer, so why does part of me still cling to the belief that fitting into the second category will make me happier, will complete my life or make it better somehow? It cannot be true. Beauty is too heavily influenced by the fickle moodswings of Fashion. Unlike clothing manufacturers and designers’ creations, body and shape cannot keep up with the rapid changes of fashion that pretends it’s version of ‘good’ is some universal truth (until the next big idea).

In the twenties, women were supposed to be flat-chested and have ironing-board type figures: no curves, no waist. In the forties, curves were back. In the fifties, curves were mandatory. In the seventies and eighties, slim was the thing but with some generosity up top. In the nineties you had to be ‘toned’ (what a word to use!). By the turn of the millenium you were supposed to be very thin (childlike, almost) and curves were sidelined again.

Also, let’s not forget that the art of airbrushing have put the standards into a whole new league. Even the photogenic classes who make their living by the camera cannot reach those standards anymore. (Mind you, image manipulation is nothing new. Photographers employed all sorts of tricks with lenses, lighting, shadows, angles and some dark-room techniques to create flawless movie stars – think of the soft-toned, flawless skin of the photos of Rita Hayworth and the like – photoshop just widens the palette of changes you can make).

And yet I cling to this idea that 10 stone is a superior me to one who weighs 11 stone. That’s quite a ridiculous notion when you think about it. A person is a complex bundle of different things. Weight is just a statistic that applies to the body part of me. There is baggage in there from my father (who openly thinks women should be slim and how dare they not be.  As if women’s bodies are there for his delectation!). He’s not hidden his disapproval of my weight gain in the past (it’s been a reoccuring thing sincemy teens). In fact he admitted he thought I looked better in the days when I know I was recovering from anorexia and was borderline underweight – that fact alone should remind me he’s not worth taking notice of in this area).

Another part of me wonders whether conforming to an idealised womanly body (regardless of time/culture or the shape/size in question) is actually about social status. Women have a rank and part of that rank is linked to her physical attractiveness (this is also true for men, but I argue to a lesser extent). Women are judged, ranked and ordered (and controlled) by their appearance, be it face, hair style, body shape/size and how she dresses (being glamorous for example). These are ways we manipulate our social status. Being nearer to the ideal puts you in a higher rank than being further from it. Rank is not solely based on appearance but alpha females tend to be the more attractive in a group – this is especially true in high school, before careers, life choices and wealth can play too big a part.

If it is true, that appearance strongly influences social status, it would explain why women are so preoccupied with their appearance (turns out, it actually IS important) and why we’re so hierarchical about it (always comparing, always judging), and more concerned with our own bodies (your vehicle for status) than other people’s. Of course I don’t mind if my sister is 5 lbs heavier, I love her whatever she weighs. But she minds because it affects her status. My younger (slimmest, dancer’s body) sister certainly wields her body as an instrument of power over her less perfect siblings. It gives her a confidence over us. Considering she’s always been the baby, I am sure she particularly enjoys that sense of power now. She and my bigsis in particular have been competitive about their bodies. (I was always too fat to be part of the game, so it didn’t involve me at all – I’m both sore and glad about that).

What a funny world we live in. Women in particular

this is what I’m talking about

Cycling in Chennai (India)

In our collection of cycling holiday photos, we have a number of  unflattering shots of my arse spilling generously over a bicycle saddle. Because I’m the slower cyclist, I tend to be in front and the Sous Chef takes snaps of our little cycling trips as we go along, without me knowing. It’s not until we upload back home that I see, with horror, the view he gets most trips. The next one was taken in Germany two years ago. My arse is nearly as wide as the panniers! I’m carrying more luggage on my rump than on my bike.

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Germany, August 2007

 I really wish he wouldn’t do it. The result is always so mortifying. I’ve yet to see an acceptable picture of my bee-hind

Here I catch him at it:

Hey!

but the worst of all photos wasn’t even taken on a bike:

so there you have it. These are the worst photos of me on file. I suppose on balance they could be worse and I should be thankful that I have legs strong enough to carry myself, my bike, my panniers (and my arse) all around the world.  Function over form, I guess.

Body Image

I’ve long had issues with my body. My physical flaws have been something I am continually aware of every single day, and have been so since I was about 13. Body image has stopped me doing things I enjoy (such as swimming. I’ve also refused to go snorkelling and scuba diving in tropical waters, I’ve been put off waterskiing, lots of fun things I won’t do because my appearance bothers me). I think this is fairly common. Unlike boys, whose physical change at puberty involves getting closer to the masculine ideal (increased muscle mass, height etc) for girls it means gaining fat around the thighs and buttocks, which is further away from the feminine ideal of slim. Apart from the chest area, I think most pubescent girls would happily be rid of every extra ounce of fat gained as a result of puberty. Telling them it’s ‘natural’ doesn’t make any difference. Fat is BAD.

Now, I’ve been a pear shape (inherited from grandma) all my adult life. Although I have never been overweight, I have often felt hideously fat. Again I don’t think I am that different from the majority of women, who mostly seem to, when asked in surveys, want to lose ‘just a few pounds’. Irrespective of what they weigh, for most women it’s always just a bit too much.

My own body image is a problem. I know this because I used to be anorexic. I recently had a relapse. I kicked myself back into line after three days but it shocked me into thinking about it again. The anorexia was years ago. I didn’t know it at the time, I did not think of myself as being anorexic and it was not to do with losing weight or being thin, but I did at times think: wow, I eat hardly anything at all and yet I’m still the same size as ever. If I were to ever go to eating like normal people, I’d be as big as a house!’. I figured that all those obese people out there were obese because they had bodies as fat-storing as mine but were eating normally (whereas I was eating about twice a week if that).

I remember looking into a mirror once as I was trying on some trousers and finding my body revolting. I did not know what size I was and in Indonesia, things tended to be labeled just S, M or L. I tended to wear L. Not owning any scales or tape measure, not having a size guide I had no idea I was actually a bit on the thin side.

It wasn’t until I got back to UK and noticed the appalled reaction of my family to how thin I’d got that it dawned on me that I was. There had been clues but I’d dismissed them. I looked fat to me, didn’t I?

Nowadays, I am about 15kg (over 2 stone) heavier and yet look exactly the same to myself as I did then. Not even a bigger version but exactly the same. Something is amiss here. Because I’ve been underweight, I know weight is not my issue. It’s not going to solve the problem or make me feel better. No matter how thin I get, I’ll feel just as I did when underweight and ‘fat’.

If I’m honest, what I hate most about my body is my pear shape. I have saddlebags (there, I said it!) and cellulite (!!)  (a  fact now published on the internet for all eternity). I don’t want to keep hating my body. I want to be one of those people who can slap their fat arse and say”I LOVE my body!!”

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning (in the buff) as part of my body image issues. I’ve decided May is my month to learn to love those jiggly thighs and those saddlebags I have. If I don’t judge other people for their physical flaws, why hate myself for mine? Why should I despise my saddlebags if I don’t berate someone for having a tummy? Where you fat is deposited is a matter of genetics. Being SO lean as to not have fat deposits at ALL is not necessarily desirable, either. I wouldn’t want to be rail thin. I know from experience that no matter how thin (even rail thin) I get I never lose my saddlebags. Dieting away saddlebags is as impossible as dieting away your boobs (fortunately another fat deposit that is also stubborn to weightloss – lucky me!) Sure, they’ll get bigger or smaller but they’ll always be there. So my mission is to deal with that. I’ve been trawling the net looking for ways to improve body image.

The positive self-talk suggested, I find that a bit nauseating so doesn’t appeal to me. I don’t want to force it. I despise false compliments. I never give them to others so I’m not going to start giving false compliments to myself, either. What kind of a fool do I take me for? However, there are some exercises I do want to try and these seem like the ones for me:

1. stand in front of a mirror in undies or naked and note where you eyes zone in. You’ll know where that is before you do this but it’s good to do it anyway.

2. now look around. Look at the OTHER areas that you’re ok with and so never go off to check out. For me, that’s my feet, my arms, my shoulders, my neck, my face, my chest, my hands. I noted the curve of my waist as it becomes my hips. I looked at my overall shape (rather than just looking at the lower half of me) I noted my nice shoulders and ribcage. The generous breasts and how these and my shoulders do even out the hips a little. Because I always focused in on the lower portion of me, I never noticed this balancing effect. By cropping it out of my view, I’d cut it out of consideration.I also have a nice neck and jawline. My collarbones are nice. When I stand up straight, I look pretty good, actually.

3. Touch the areas you despise. The site recommended rubbing in body lotion. I don’t have any body lotion so did this as I was lathering up in the shower. Do it nicely, with the care you’d show someone you love. For me that means soaping the the thighs, the hips, the knees, the bottom. I hate these areas but I began to notice how smooth my skin is. All my boyfriends have commented on my skin being very soft and lovely. Now I was feeling it for myself. I DO have soft skin. It’s a lovely colour, too -it’s dimply of course but hey, so what? The old me would have thought adjectives like: blubbery, flabby, bulgeing, fat, disgusting, hideous but now I started to think of words like generous, womanly, soft. I realised how this layer of fat I have, as I am a woman, is what makes me soft and nice to cuddle into.

The word woman started to sound nice to me. I’m not a girl any more, I am a woman. That word carried a mothering, loving, warm feeling. Again, I heard the echoes of what boyfriends had told me, about how nice it is to snuggle into me, soft and squidgey. Comforting and wonderful. I realised I do not want to be hard and boney. I should be pleased that I have this curvy body, generous in places that the woman’s body is known for its generosity.

I started to think about the media images we are all exposed to (even though I refuse to buy or read wimmin’s mags). I began think how models, actresses, singers are chosen for how they appear in clothing and on film or in print. We seem them all the time but never meet them. Their role is entirely 2D . I, on the other hand, am a 3-dimensional person. I must live in my body and interact with the world and with other people. My life is not just to pose and have pictures taken, static and perfect (at least from this angle, with this light). My life is not static, My life is not taken in pictures. I am me and I am made up of more than my appearance. I am my movement, my stance, my speech. I am how I swing my arms, I am my stride, I am the pitch and tone of my voice, I am my laughter. I am my thoughts, my feelings, my reactions. I am many things and my appearance is only one part of that. And my thighs are only one part of that one part. Why did I think this so important?

Of course, I have to continue with this self-accepting attitude. I can easily let it slip away. I realise I am not just comparing myself to picture perfect models and actresses but also to other people in my real, 3D world but surely for me to strive to have their figure is as ridiculous as to strive to have their face, or their ears or their height. I have what is mine. They have what is theirs. My job is to love having what I have and to allow them to have what they have.

So May is my month of self-acceptance. I feel I’ve already made progress in just one day.