Body Image

What the fuck is wrong with people? I mean seriously, if at some point you can no longer look at a magazine cover and wish that you were "that thin" or "that pretty" and you are middle aged, then you need more than a shrink let me tell you; you need to crawl in a hole because, as you've failed to realize by now, how you look is never going to make your life what you want it to be. Just ask Heidi Montag.

You know, my body pisses me off. It doesn't fit into the size clothes I want and sometimes it is bloated and crazy, as in hormonally crazy. Sometimes it has the worst migraines ever and I am huddled over the toilet bowl yacking out the contents of my stomach. Sometimes it just doesn't want to do anything except lay down and watch Oprah and sometimes, it screams at me that it wants something that I refuse to give it. It's a relationship that insists on communication yet it is often a very one sided argument. I expect my body to do what I want and yet, I've rarely listened to it. That is, until now.

It's interesting the concept of loving your body for what it is and there is a lot to be said for acceptance. At some point, I had to take inventory and really assess the strengths and weaknesses of my skin and my muscles and my heart and think about what I've put my body through and how it has always been there, morning after morning, sometimes creaky but still, it keeps trying to do what I ask. And what do I do? I abuse it to the point where it sometimes hurts to get out of bed. Creaks and cracks and shooting pain in my lower back. Albeit, some of this is just a side effect of getting older, but much of it is due to misuse or neglect of some of the things that are the very best about my body. Tonight, as I swam with Nancy, who incidentally kicks my ass in swimming and she might not want me to tell her age but she is older than I am and she makes me hope that I am as awesome as she is in 20 years, I thought about my body. Putting my face in the water, pulling through and I relished the thought that I can feel myself getting stronger; it is taking time and patience, two things that I don't have much of, but I am starting to remember how good it feels to love your body.

I have asked and I continue to ask so much from my heart and my lungs and my skin and my legs and I count on a sense of physical well being to be able to function in my daily life with 3 boys and a husband and a part time job. But for a long time, well over a decade, I've neglected myself and because I have, I tailspinned into a place that I thought that I'd never be and maybe I was even depressed for awhile. I'm not sure. But what I found out was that, growing up an athlete, made certain demands on me physically that I had let go of when I started having babies. I made other things my priority and I told myself that it didn't matter as long as I could do what I needed to do. Try to eat well, sleep, exercise when I could, but soon, those important factors fell to the wayside and late night feedings, grading papers, making meals, giving baths and just trying to fit in a shower now and then took up the majority of my time. I accept that now, but I didn't then. And, of the few regrets that I have, that is one that I didn't recognize sooner. I love what my body has done for me and, you could not pay me enough to trade it for someone else's. No one. And I read Playboy so I've seen a lot of hot bodies, let me tell you, but still, scars and stretch marks and all, it's mine and I bear each spot and each line with full awesome responsibility.

I've been pregnant five times. I've had 3 children and two miscarriages... I have torn cartilege in my right knee and both of them pop and crack when I get out of bed. I have a multitude of lines and crow's feet on my face and my skin is always just a little bit red. I have spider veins and my brother Steve says that I have "tree trunks" for legs which, incidentally, I do. My hair is starting to gray and I need caffeine most afternoons just to get me through the rest of the day. I forget things, all of the time, wait, what was I saying? I don't take enough vitamins and I definitely don't get enough sleep or enough sex (we'll talk about that one later, I think my husband is holding out on me until I cook him dinner) and I have glasses now. I have really poor posture and I forget to wear my sunglasses a lot. I have really dry skin and I bite my lower lip when I'm thinking or mad and I also grind my teeth really badly when I sleep, at least that's what I'm told. And shockingly, even with all of these maladies, my body lets me do what I will to it, day after day and only now, 41 years into the journey, is it starting to ask for something in return. A tiny bit of acceptance.

Let's face it, I look more like a linebacker than a cheerleader, more like Simon Cowell than Kara DioGuardi and much more like Pink than Britney Spears (I'm especially happy with that last comparison as I cannot stand Britney Spears). But, that's what's great about me, that I look just like me and I'm good with that.

I swam 24 laps tonight in the pool. I did yoga this week and I'm running 10 miles on Saturday. I also went hiking and I danced, gardened, jumped rope, played catch and ran 2 times on my own. I did this because my body graciously allowed me to and maybe I owe it a little more respect than I'd given it these past years. Maybe I need to remind myself of the good that I see when I look in the mirror or when someone smiles warmly at me. Maybe I needed a good swift kick in the ass to remind myself that I'm good enough just the way that I am and that when I finally do that, that my body will feel that way too. Funny what we put ourselves through and how harshly we judge the most insignificant things. In a society obsessed with beauty and youth, we have to constantly tell ourselves that we are good enough, that we are beautiful and that we can compete. But it makes me sad to think of such definitive terms. So I am giving myself permission to redefine my own self image, particularly that of my body. I am going to be thankful for the strength and the endurance and the stamina that are the best qualities about my body and I am going to forgive myself for pushing too hard sometimes or not enough and I am going to enjoy bending over to tie my shoes and being able to read a book up close without glasses and still eat spicy food without getting heartburn. I am going to enjoy wearing sexy lingerie and heels and I am going to love drinking a glass of wine every night, well, maybe half a glass and when we legalize marijuana soon, I might even sit on my back deck and smoke a joint with my husband just because.

Being a woman is difficult even on the best days. The demands that we put on ourselves to look good, to feel good, to be the best are daunting. Maybe if we just sat for a minute each day and thought about how we kicked ass in the pool or how we did 10 pushups or walked that extra block or how we sat still for 45 minutes while our kid sang in the chorus, then we could go a bit easier on ourselves and our body image. Maybe if we just stopped being so fucking obsessed with being someone else's age instead of our own, then acceptance would come more easily, more readily. I embrace 41 and I will embrace every year that lets me live just a little longer and a little better and as long as I get to do it in this body, I'm good with that.

We waste too much time on what isn't when we should really be concentrating on what is: possible, probable, likely, lovely, kind, beneficial, heartwarming, selfless. So tomorrow, when you ask yourself, Should I have that extra doughnut or another vanilla latte? Really, what are you asking? And, what is your body telling you to do? Now, go look in the mirror and remind yourself that no matter what the Playmate of the Year looks like or how thin your next door neighbor is or how gorgeous that co-host of whatever show that you watch, is, that she is not you and she never will be...