Today hasn't been so bad.
Well, apart from the fact that I thought I'd be working a half shift and wore the shoes that are comfortable only for a few hours and then proceed to deliberately torture my poor little feet, and then after I arrived at work got the call that my coworker is ill and could I please cover the rest of the shift? Well I need the hours, so of course I said yes. But now I'm wondering if an extra 4 hours makes up for the terribly unpleasant sensations my shoes are causing.
When I was younger I watched a movie (lost to memory now) in which the heroine sighs "Ah, let us be beautiful, or die in the attempt!" The reckless use of the word 'die' invoked such romantic passion in me that I readily bought into the pathetic mantra without considering the consequences. It seems that women are in such a frenzy to match our fantasy ideal of beautiful, that we turn a blind eye to the unique charms we each naturally possess.
I spent last evening with a very dear girlfriend watching movies in our pajama's, feasting on popcorn and drinking copious amounts of rum and cola. As is so common when two or 3 females are gathered, the Body Issue arose. We became vulnerable while confessing our deepest insecurities - how our bodies have changed - our struggle to reconcile our present appearance with the memory of how we looked at 19 - and most shockingly, how very very crazy our husbands are about our forms now. I began to ponder this as the buzz wore off, and wondered: Why is it, that despite the whole-hearted appreciation that the most important people in our lives have for us, we are determined to view ourselves as insufficient, imperfect, and undesirable? We are taught to rebuff a compliment with a self deprecating remark. To look at our girlfriends with comparative envy, as if simply being a different shape or size gives them an edge of superiority.
No epiphany struck me while I mulled it over. I don't think there is a quicky solution to the Body Issue. Perhaps it is simply a stubborn mental decision to defy insecurity. To rebel against all your self-loathing instincts and pummel yourself with love and goodwill. To accept the pleasant things people say about you as truth - could it be that you really are sexy? Desirable? Adorable?
I realized that the Love of my Life has never lied about anything. And it's nice to believe that I am actually as beautiful as he tells me I am.
I'd love to hear your thoughts - feel free to comment!