Body

Body

Psalm 139:13-16 ”You formed the way I think and feel.

                        You put me together in my mother’s womb.

                        14 I praise you because you made me in such a wonderful way

                        I know how amazing that was!

                        15 You could see my bones grow as my body took shape,

                        Hidden in my mother’s womb.

                        16 You could see my body grow each passing day.

                        You listed all my parts, and not one of them was missing.

My deepest wish today is to walk past my sacred mirror and not be enslaved to scanning my body from head to toe to critique it and point out the real or perceived flaws that can make or break my day.  Actually my deepest wish would be to walk past the sacred mirror and see the image of the amazing wonderful person God formed in my mother’s womb.  To stop and gaze at this wonderful body as God did watching my bones grow as my body took shape.  How lovely to imagine God watching his creation (me) grow with each passing day.  I remember how I watched in awe from the outside as my belly expanded with each passing day, not realizing fully the miracle unfolding in my womb, I can only imagine God’s awe and pride in seeing his design (me) taking shape in the womb.

I cannot begin know how sad and confused he must be by my dissatisfaction with my body that he made in such a wonderful way.  I have spent most my life thinking, writing and talking about hating my body when I should be praising him for how wonderfully he made me inside and out. I should know how amazing he made me and praise him for that, yet I continue to find fault.

I know that some of this is the eating disorder talking, but I also believe that women, in our culture are expected to have some degree of dissatisfaction with our bodies, so it feels prideful or arrogant to just say thank you when someone compliments our bodies. We aren’t supposed to love our bodies, but starve them, work them out, and then we are still supposed to criticize them for not being enough.   We somehow have bought into the lies that we are simply never enough inside or out.  I also feel fraudulent, as I know the price I have paid to attain this "Perfect" body that I rarely see.  Social norms coupled with the eating disorder feeds the poor body image, which in reality is poor self-image.  I would, because of the eating disorder prefer that people not comment on my body at all.  For those of us that struggle with, or against our bodies, these comments just create confusion.  If I look “good” is this good, or is it “bad?”  When I hear people comment that I look good, all I hear is “you have gained weight.” When they say I look “bad,” I hear you are too thin.  If I am not careful both breath life into the eating disorder that hasn’t fully arrested. 

I am frustrated that I continue to find my identity in the eating disorder instead of who I am in Christ.  “Imagine a woman who refuses to use her life energy disguising the change in her body and life” (Patricia Lynn Reilly).  I have wasted so much of my life energy on my body. I am so much more than my body.  My deepest wish would be that I could see my body as Christ sees it and allow my life energy of the Holy Spirit to burn brightly for all to see.  I regularly dim this light of the Father as I spend my life energy focused on disliking my body.  How can I possibly shine His love for all of us, when I don’t love this body that he made in a wonderful way?  I wonder which comes first loving this body or the amazing woman that lives within?

I decide that today I am going to go through my usual ritual of approaching the sacred mirror and stand naked before it, but I am not allowed say anything negative about it.  I am just going to stand and praise God for how wonderfully made I am.  This is going to be rough and far out of my comfort zone.  Am I allowed to like my body or at least parts of it?  I feel God strongly calling be to go with it, so I do.

I start at the top of my head, and it feels awkward and un-natural since I always start with my belly.  I look at my hair the way it falls straight softly framing my face.  I have come to like my brown poker straight hair.  It has been short, long, and everywhere in between.  I really do have great hair and I like the way it is thick and full.  I love to change it up with my mood knowing it will quickly grow from short to long so I can change it up time and time again.  I rarely have a bad hair day.  I would love to let it go gray just to see what it would look like, but it seems like more work than coloring it.

I grew up believing I was less than beautiful because my eyes weren’t blue like my mother’s.  My eyes are dark brown like my father’s eyes and grandmother’s.  I felt like it was my fault and I had somehow let her down by having brown eyes. I was too young to understand genetics at the time.  I hated my brown eyes until the days of Van Morrison and Jimmy Buffett’s Brown-Eyed Girl. When my husband began calling me his brown-eyed girl I decided my eyes were the perfect color.  Is there even a song about blue eyed girls?  I tell everyone that this is one song that will be played in celebration of my brown eyes at my funeral.  And yes, I had some work done to take away the bags the rested under them since my childhood.  I like them even better now, but I no longer wish for blue eyes.

I take a moment and look into my eyes and think about being the apple of God’s eye. It is hard to look myself in the eyes searching for beauty when I am used to seeing ashes. I believe I am beginning to see that he never meant for me to be ashes.

Then I allow my eyes scan my face noticing my freckles.  I love my freckles and how they change like objects of nature with the seasons.  They bud in the warmth of the spring sun, bloom like wild flowers in the long days of summer’s light: becoming abundant and rich in color.  My freckles begin to fade away with the sinking sun of fall and then almost disappear; hibernating like bears in winter until spring’s sun once again calls them forth. 

There is a slight cleft in my chin that makes me feel unique and special.  No clue as to why, but I have always felt it distinctive, my own unique beauty mark.  I have always wanted to be pretty and today as I look at my face I am pleased with what I see.  

So my brown eyes wander to my body, as I stand naked….Now What? I like that I am tallish for a woman, and am evenly proportioned.  Weight gets evenly distributed when and if I decide to gain it.  I love my broad shoulders that either came from years of swimming butterfly, or made butterfly my best stoke.  Either way I like them and the way clothes hang from them down the length of my long arms.  My long arms glide gracefully through the water or make it difficult to go over or around with a tennis ball.  According to my coach, I have the wingspan of a 747.  This is good for tennis, but also reaching the top shelves in the grocery, reaching to the sky in praise and worship, and group hugs. I like that they are well muscled and look good in tank tops.

I stare at my breasts, which are unremarkable, but then I remember seeing them in the reflection of the TV attached to the treadmill.  They have filled out slightly and they have a nice feminine rise and fall to them as I run.  Right now it is the best of both worlds.  I can see the subtle fullness as they rise and I can see my ribs across my chest as they fall.  With the right bra on I no longer look shapeless.  I stop for a moment to mourn the bones I once treasured concealed beneath my flesh.  I am okay, and as friend after friend loses some or all of a breast to Breast cancer I am grateful mine are both intact covering the bones I once treasured.  I find myself gently touching my small biopsy scar.

I turn around to look at my back.  How am I going to do this?  I grab a small hand mirror turning in all sorts of directions until I can see most of it.  Wow, I am surprised to realize that it has just the right amount of muscle that strikes a balance between strong and sexy.  I think I like it and imagine slipping into a dress that would accentuate this strength and beauty.  It also still has the slight V shape that either allowed me to be a great swimmer, or came from countless hours in the pool.

I notice the small of my back how it is gently sloped and meets the top of my pelvis The first thing that comes to mind isn’t what I see, but what I feel.  I feel a warmth of affection move through me as I think of how many times my husband has rested his hand in this very spot as he walks beside me or holds me in his arms. The small of my back, I decide is just perfect.  My eyes start to glance at my flesh just above my pelvis on my flank. Since I can’t say anything nice, I stop myself and move on. 

My ass?  I still really don’t have an ass right now.  I miss my once high shapely rock hard ass, but until I can lift again, I am happy that it is small and tight.  I notice the area on the side of my hips where the glutes melt into my legs.  I love my legs and the dancers hollow that is the space between the two.  It is an indication of my athleticism.  It is something that I have never set out to create, but just happens from running, swimming, and skiing.  I love that I don’t have to work for it and that it is sexy.   

I have always liked my legs they are long, well proportioned, and muscled.  I like the definition in my quads, that I can pick see each of the four muscles that comprise my thigh.  I turn sideways and admire the line along the side of my legs the separate the anterior muscles from the posterior muscles of my hamstrings.  I grab the hand mirror once again to see that my hamstrings are defined as well.  I like the fact that they are strong and have carried me through all of my days, sometimes walking and often running.  I love the way my legs look when I wear heels, but quite frankly prefer running shoes and my cowboy boots.

I stand and stare at myself wondering if I  could  love this body as it is let alone with more weight on it.  Did I love it when I was I carried more weight?  I find myself baffled by my own question, because I can only assess what I see right now reflecting back at me.  Although I am not at my thinnest, I am still not at my goal weight (what is it anyways).  Would I still love these same parts of me that I am able to love today?  Is it a risk I am willing to take?

One thing I am sure of is that I am grateful that despite all I have put it through, it still carries me through this journey! My deepest wish is that one day I can see my body and love it not just for its appearance, but the amazing woman living beneath the surface.