I have been mad at my body lately. Maybe most of my life. I was too tall as a girl in the 60’s-so I slouched. My mom would instruct me to, “Stand up straight” then she’d exclaim, “You’re soooo tall.” Relatives would ask her what she fed me.
My mom was 5’2. I was 5’10” in middle school. After 20 years of marriage at age 42 I put on a pair of high heels. My husband said, “Oh, now I know why you don’t wear heels, you are really tall.” I didn’t put another pair on until we separated several years later.
I was also called “fatty Patti” by my brother and neighborhood kids. My mom countered with, “NO YOU ARE NOT!”, then refused my request for a piece of her freshly baked chocolate cake she. (My friends now call me Patricia, it doesn’t rhythm with fatty.)
As a result of this history, when I married at 23, 5’10” and 125 pounds, I thought I was fat. I wore a one piece bathing suit on my honeymoon. I wish I were that fat now! I will never see 23 and 125 pounds again in my lifetime! I missed it. I missed me.
Today I find I am up to the same old stuff. Unhappy with my body. At 53 I see my mothers thighs, the beginnings of my grandmothers giggle arms, and a roll of fat around my middle that is exasperating.
People who know me would probably be surprised to hear this. The feedback I get is that I look great. Much younger that 53. The good news about being tall is that height does disperse weight well. So my 150 pounds doesn’t look so bad, except deep down I know I am not really Patricia, but fatty Patty.
I am amazed that one day I can believe I look good, thin, the next day I think I look huge. What changed? Not my body, there hasn’t been enough time. The lens through which I see myself has changed. I donned my fatty Patty glasses and she stepped before me in the mirror.
I know am not alone in my body loathing. It is viral.
What part of yourself do you loath? Criticize without mercy? What is the story behind the lens through which you see yourself?
BUT or should I say BUTT… How do we change our stories?