The "perfect body"

The “perfect body”

What image comes to mind upon hearing that phrase..."the perfect body"? Remember in the 70's Bo Derek was a "10", in the 80's, well I'm not sure what the heck was going on there but a lot of people were into aerobics, jazzercise and fitness gurus. In the last couple of decades things have improved...slightly, slowly. Among my daughters' generation it is desirable to have “booty", a nice big juicy butt. This is good because many women carry their weight in their hips, thighs and butt unlike the androgynous teenage boy look that was sold to us in the 60's and 70's. But to have a look or body type become "vogue" is precisely the problem. It's hard enough keeping up with wardrobe style changes (I don't even bother) but body type changes? Hah. If thin is in, thick is out, if thick is slick thin is out; meanwhile as the trends change we all living in the body genetics gave us.
Much has been written, discussed and filmed to address the impact of the media (especially advertising) on women’s self image. It's not breaking news that many of us, especially younger women compare ourselves to an unrealistic ideal. When I was a teenager and into my early 20's it didn't even occur to me that the bouncy curls and wild waves that adorned women’s' crowns were actually permed, styled, sprayed, teased and otherwise cajoled into looking that way. I honestly thought that was how they looked naturally. My own hair was fine, straight and would not hold a curl no matter how hard I tried. I actually cried one night because my boyfriend was flirting with a "Big Hair" girl. And the worst part was it never occurred to me at the moment that any man shallow enough to choose one woman over another based hair volume was probably not someone I'd want to be with anyway.
Now getting "older" and having sustained a certain amount of wear and tear, I am extremely grateful that I got the deadly sin of envy out of my frame of reference. We are pressured to look a certain way when we are young, and as we age we are pressured to maintain that ideal which isn't even realistic for a young woman much less a 50 year old who has had babies, fallen off motorcycles, washed hundreds of thousands of dishes and all the other experiences that can affect how we age.
Plastic surgery which began as a quirky trend utilized by celebrities has now become disturbingly commonplace. It’s not only the extremes of actual surgical alteration that is becoming normalized, If a woman resists dying her hair as it grays she is either "so brave" (a phrase often delivered condescendingly) or is simply seen as eccentric. Once again the "old hippie" stereotype is invoked to dismissively invalidate a woman’s conscious, self affirming choice.
On the flip side I would be a hypocrite if I condemned women who do choose to dye their hair, go to the gym to maintain that perfect tone, or even get some "work done". After all we’re talking about our bodies, our choice; Choice being the key issue. If a woman chooses this route because she can afford it and she does it for herself with self awareness and confidence, I say go to it. After all I have altered my body with tattoos, piercings and the occasional purple or blue dye job; but I have also come to appreciate and love the scars, the stretch marks and all the imperfections that each tells a chapter in my story. Does this mean I'm always happy when I look in the mirror? Hell no, I haven't transcended vanity, I'm only human. But I no longer allow those disappointments (I'm talking to you cellulite) to drive me to making obsessively poor choices including berating myself for not living up to some unrealistic Ideal.
This is a topic I'd like to follow up on, there's so much more to be said. In the meantime I'd love to hear my readers’ thoughts and experiences with body image: either in comments here or on my Facebook group (see link in sidebar) I'm also including a link to The Now Foundation’s "Love Your Body" campaign. They have some wonderful projects, especially those designed for college age women. I strongly encourage you to check out the link!
Peace...and Love your Body, it is your temple.
Jenny
© 2011 Nanakoosas Place, by Jennifer Hazard

Messages from a Younger Me

 Long before the invention of the Internet and blogging, I had always been a dedicated journal keeper. I think I began at about age 8 and have continued for most of my life, maybe taking occasional breaks here and there. Part of me always felt a little "different" and overly self conscious and I found it difficult to share my innermost thoughts, fears and desires with even my closest friends. So, as is the case for many an angsty teenage girl, my journal became my friend, my confidant, and the Treasure Chest that contained the jewels, the secrets, the broken pieces and the love letters that were the Real Me.

As I got older and my life became more and more a series of circumstances I never would have imagined myself to be a part of, I recognized the importance of recording those events, having the intuitive sense that someone, someday, may find a jewel contained within the rubble.  Then finally as I clawed my way out of the mess my life had become, I found journaling to be therapeutic and illuminating. In my journals I opened the doors that contained my own mysteries, riddles that I didn't even know existed and discovered vulnerabilities and strengths I had kept hidden even from myself.

Since relocating recently, I've had the opportunity to sort through my belongings, including those things that get stashed away because they contain sentimental items and family treasures. I have one large plastic tote that contains the oldest, most special treasures; letters from my grandmother who passed on over a decade ago, ribbons from horseback competitions in my middle school years, my kids first t-shirts, all sorts of memorabilia...and, my old journals.

Ever since going through AODA treatment 10 years ago I have established a yearly tradition of re-reading the last few years journals on my birthday. It's a celebration of all the events that have led me to where I am today. It's also an opportunity to identify  and reflect upon, patterns, cycles, habits, growth and change. Until this week, however, I have not reached back more than a few years into my past. I have snuck a few peeks, but I always felt like I was holding something of great power and potential danger; the incantations of secrets and lies I had conjured up to delude myself. I was afraid to reveal, even to myself alone in a safe space, the Enchantment that kept me so deliriously rooted in my self destructive lifestyle.

What drew my attention this time was a small notebook, not even a school type notebook, but a notepad really, the kind we used before there were post it notes. On the cover were some doodles I had made, a skinny waitress, an androgynous punk looking character and various small animals. There were a few dates and a long forgotten phone number. Not certain what it was, although I vaguely remembered seeing it over the years, I began to browse through the yellowing dog eared pages. I realized I was holding the oldest journal I still have in my possession. It was from 1980 when my later to be husband and I had just left our hometown to return to my roots in New England. But it was not that simple. I remembered the basic story of course, it was a pretty major event in my life, completely relocating, but I had clearly forgotten some of the more intimate details. You see this was the beginning of a relationship that was to continue for 8 years and produce my oldest child. This was the relationship that was fueled by obsession, jealousy, manipulation, illusion and violence. The glue that kept those vices securely in place, that sealed the lock to the cell of my own personal prison was alcohol, and later, narcotics.

I had left my Midwestern home, or at least it had been for the past 7 years, to go "on the run" with the man I believed to be my "soul mate". I believed, at the time, he was being followed by the DEA because of his involvement with certain people. I believed this to be true because it was what he told me. He said he had to get out of town, went into hiding, dyed his hair and convinced me to sell almost everything I owned to raise money to get out of town.

I had known him for 3 months.

Reading my words from so long ago was eerie...I felt as though a  ghost, a wisp of my former self was reaching out to me through the years, trying to explain and justify what had happened. And on the other side, the "Adult Me" listening patiently wanting to say things like "Oh sweetie, it's not supposed to be like that"

So now, Jenny from 30 years ago, young, naive, romantic, giving her all for the sake of "love" is reminding the Jenny of today, cautious, experienced, self protective, of exactly what feelings, beliefs, needs and illusions started this crazy journey through our adult life. A life that took so many unforeseen twists and turns and eventually led me to where I am today, creating a life where I can reach out on a daily basis to women, young and old, who have lived, or are living, driven by the same illusions that were my blueprint back  1980.

Stepping into that life renews my understanding and empathy and bring it to a deeper level than the unreliability of selective memory will allow.

This in itself is a testament to the value of Journaling.

© 2010 Nanakoosa’s Place, authored by Jennifer Hazard