Tyranny of Skinny Ideal

I had a really "feel good" day yesterday, despite only sleeping 5 hours. (I only got five last night, too, cause I was up till 4 am doing some work.) I had energy like I hadn't had in a long while, and I felt...vivid! I decided my mood needed something vibrant, so I washed and straightened my hair into a glossy waterfall, painted my toenails an orange-red, and put on my summeriest lipstick--Manhunt, which looks orangey-red on me, though I already got my man--with some Lychee Luxe lipglass on top for extra shine. I felt glowy.

My Pilates teacher said she noticed I was walking differently, looked brighter, and seemed slimmer.

Heh.

So, on with the tortuous, but satisfying workout. During a point where my trainer was adjusting some springs on the Reformer, I looked over to the corner with the ladder barrel, where an impossibly slender and tall creature of blessed looks (must be another model, I swear) was leaning on the barrel, pushing disgustingly at the non-existent fat on her thighs. I kid you not. This gal only had the amount of fat humans need to live and no more. But her face in that mirror was disapproving.

What was she disgusted with?

You know how when you sit there is that downward pressure that makes your body spread a bit. It's normal. Has to happen. Gravity, weight, pressure--it's impossible not to have SOME thigh spread when you lean your weight back on your lower body, pressing against leather. Flesh gives.

Well, she judged herself so harshly for being human.

Mind you, she was a very pretty, very very thin, very tall human with legs a couple miles long. Most women would give a few toes and fingers and maybe an ear to have her figure.

She judged herself nonetheless.

How crazy is that?

I look in the mirror at the gym and feel horror, but I'm misshapen from an assortment of ills and bad habits. That gal was not. She should have been reveling in her near-perfection.

I think one day she'll be 68 and look at a photo of herself at this age (20's) and think, "Geesh. I was a hottie. I was SKINNY. Why the hell did I think something was wrong with me?"

I know I look at pics of myself in high school, when I felt so very ugly and chubby, and I think, "Um, not THAT bad. I wish I was that weight now."

I was 135 at my lowest, mostly around 139. Magazines told me I should be 120, 123 tops. I remember that number: 123. It was the Holy Grail back then for me in th 70's. I did yoga. I biked. I never got below 135. I hated, loathed, hated my body for it.

Unless I get some wasting disease or an eating disorder, I'll never be under 135. And now, I'll be happy to be under 200, and delirious to be under 175.

Perspective. Changes everything.

I'm trying to enjoy what I can do now, even if the mirror sometimes scares me. I woke up today and didn't toss on some baggy cotton tee. I treated myself with care. I put on a sexy black plunging v-neck tank top and decided to start being kinder to the me in the mirror, while I work harder at becoming healthier.

Cause, you know, I ain't getting yesterday back, or this last minute I spent typing here. Or my high school weight (realistically.)

And sometimes, when I was in the moment, I had such a warped attitude and judged myself harshly because some stupid ass magazines and charts said the right number was 123 or less. I berated myself. I was cruel to ME.

Internally, in my mind, in my spirit, I became my own enemy.

That fresh, slim, flexible, fit young woman at the studio was, for that moment, in that mirror, her enemy.

And it made me sad.

She's missing this moment, this moment when God blessed her with beauty and health and a body that fits the social ideal so perfectly. She is at a peak--and she's letting it get away in those moments of self-disgust and self-judging.

I'm too old (maybe a bit mature) to have felt spasms of envy (as I might have 10 years ago). A sense of regret at never having known what it felt like to be like THAT, yes, but nothing dark.

I felt mad, too, that we impose such harsh expectations on women. Damn.

So, I should treat this me that I am now with some mercy, cause when I'm 68, I might look back in a pic and think, "I wasn't as horrible as I thought," and I might wish to be this age again.