Real women have....

Bodies.  And so do men.  It's this fascinating concept.  As human beings we were given this shell called a body.  We are tall and short, big and small, some of us have freckles, some of us have curly hair, some of us are left handed.  We are all different, just like snowflakes.  What makes us unique isn't just our outer shell, but what's inside the shell.

I know, super cliche: beauty comes from within.  And it always seems that only beautiful people say that, right?  Like it's super easy for a thin person to say something inspiring about having curves and make it seem like this positive thing, but that thin person without curves doesn't exactly know what it's like to wear a different shell.  And the curvier person is constantly reminded that she (or he) doesn't quite fit in our society's standard of beauty even though that thin person just tried their best to relate. 

I remember when the movie Real Women Have Curves came out.  I was so excited!  Finally they're making a movie to show it's okay to not be skinny.  But now after being in recovery I see the movie a bit differently.  I know the movie is about empowering women, has a great storyline and the intentions are all good.  However the title bothers me some.  Real women have curves...so...the women who are naturally slim aren't "real women"?  Or an anorexic wouldn't be considered a "real woman"?

What constitutes a real woman?  So much more than her body, that's for sure.  I can't even define what a real woman is and it would be rather egotistical of me to even try.  I can only define myself and I'm just one type of woman.

I'm average height, have black hair, brown eyes (so dark when I was a baby my grandma called them black), is insecure (but working on it), a daughter/sister/wife, heterosexual, hard worker, talented (that's hard for me to say, but dammit I am talented, might as well own it), creative, sensitive, anxious, kind hearted, perfectionistic, a good listener, likes to make people laugh...I could go on and on, there's so much that defines me.  In this definition I purposefully didn't mention my weight (which I don't even know) or my body type (which I'm conflicted about on a daily basis) because there is so much more to me than those facts.  Those are two things about me, just two, and so many of us let those two things run our lives.

But what happens when we stop making it about those two insignificant things and make our lives about being good people and reaching our full potential?  Being a good person has nothing to do with which shell you were given, what you ate for lunch, if you let yourself have dessert, if you went to the gym, if you are a size zero or a size twelve, and everything to do with how you treat others.  Smile more, laugh often, be vulnerable, give someone a hug, tell a special person you love them, make mistakes, cook with a friend.  Above all be yourself because no one else can do what you do or be who you are.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall...

As one can imagine, mirrors aren't my favorite thing.  Most times in a public bathroom, I walk up to the sink, eyes on the sink, get my soap, lather my hands together, rinse, dry, and walk out.  Not once looking at myself.  Why?  Because I don't like looking at myself.  When I do, my mind starts doing jumping jacks.

Can people tell that I've gained weight?  Do I look fat in this outfit?  Maybe I should always suck my stomach in.  How can I make my legs longer and thinner?  From the side can I pass as skinny?  I wish my arms weren't so big.

I could continue on and on, but I'm sure some of you could fill in what's missing because you have your own thoughts while looking in the mirror.

Today I was in rehearsal for the ballet version of A Christmas Carol with the Stoughton Center for Performing Arts.  It's a ballet studio.  They are not in need of mirrors.  They have plenty.  I look around at all the real dancers and wonder if any of them have a problem with the mirrors.

In rehearsal mirrors are important.  We can see how we carry our bodies, if we are in step with the person next to us, and for the real dancers they can keep an eye on their technique.  Today when we had periods of waiting time while the director was discussing something with certain people, I looked in the mirror.  I was wearing an athletic t-shirt and yoga pants.  By brain split in two.

One part of my brain did the usual check.  Thighs touch.  Stomach sticks out.  Wide hips.  Well endowed.  Flabby arms.  Yeah...I'm there alright.

The other part of my brain did something different though.  While the first part of my brain did its check, the second part kept asking, Does it matter?  You are healthy.  You can't trust what you see.  You can't compare your body with those of teenagers.  You want to be a strong dancer, right?

By the end of rehearsal I decided that I looked okay.  That there wasn't really anything wrong with my body.  That I looked like a human being.  That there is more to me than the number on the scale and the number on the clothes tag.  That I love people of all different shapes and sizes and others probably do too.

It's still hard though.  For the people who have seen me skinnier, I wish there was this sign they could read, In Recovery, so they wouldn't judge me that my body takes up more space now, that they automatically understood before I wasn't treating my body right and now I am, that I'm doing the best I can.

In a sense I have to mourn my previous body and ED.  I really don't have a desire to go back and starve and purge and drive myself crazy, but I'm still addicted to the idea of thin.  I still want to be considered the skinny friend, but that's not my role anymore.  My role is compassionate friend, understanding friend, loving friend, nonjudgmental friend, etc.

As I continue my recovery journey I don't know if I will ever love what I see in the mirror.  For right now I'm working towards acceptance.