I meant to write this blog post something like a month ago, I forgot about it, but was having a conversation tonight that reminded me of it. What triggered this was a Facebook status update about looking sexy or something. I correlated it to looking good, and someone I respect, love and admire said that sexiness is about attitude. I definitely agree with the sentiment, but I don't know if I agree that that is exclusive to what sexiness is, at least for me.
I don't consider myself as some epic sexy icon, in fact for the longest time, I didn't feel attractive at all. Before that, I KNEW that I had it going on. I was a size 12, young, full of piss and vinegar and rocking the hourglass figure, mind you, my hair wasn't nearly as fabulous! As time went on, I gained weight, got up to a 22 at my highest, but maintained a regular 18. Logically I knew I wasn't ugly, but I didn't feel it. Needless to say my self esteem in that regard dropped to an all time low at the time of my separation. It was at that point I made a decision that no matter how shitty I felt, I was going to look well put together. Fake it until I make it, that was my idea. In a completely unrelated move to my looks, but affected it wildly, I pretty much stopped eating well. That was pure stress, but needless to say, it took me down from a size 20, to a 14, which is pretty much ideal on my body, or at least my ideal.
Anyhow, every once in a while, someone would comment that despite how awful my circumstances were, I looked fabulous and that gave me a little boost. Now while I shouldn't tie my happiness to how others view how awesome I look, I needed that superficial bump. Slowly, as time went on and I continued to fake it until I make it, I noticed here and there that I was being noticed. Again, superficial, but much needed at the time. What slowly started to happen though, was that every now and again, I'd catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and be taken away by that pretty person looking back. It was a split second before the Critical Joy jumped up from her coffee break to take that moment away, but it was something I hadn't experienced in the past several years.
My therapist mentioned that it was important as a sexual being to have your loving partner desire you, not that I had a partner, but I think to a degree, knowing that I could turn a head now and then, it somewhat woke up that Joy who remembered that I was sexual and desirable, at least to a few people. However I realized that I was still tying my confidence to how others see me. It would give me a boost, but it was short lived and very surface like. When I noticed that a certain fella was making eyes at me, then something really jumped, because here was someone that I was interested in, who I could see found me easy on the eye. Some months later, the affection is based on so much more than my looks, but it's once again nice to feel desired when I use my eyes or smile to evoke that reaction. That said, more and more, those split second glimpses in the mirror started to grow longer and Critical Joy started to shut her yap. Confident Joy was clearly sitting on her giving her noogies because I started saying "not too shabby girl" to myself.
Then I went and did something radical, I had a tummy tuck. Really, probably the antithesis of sexy truly coming from within, but strangely enough, now I feel it. My body is far from the Hollywood ideal. I'm not 90lbs soaking wet with insanely huge tits. I have fat, cellulite, wrinkles, greys, my arms flap, I'm a solid size 14 and without more surgery, or serious boob deflation, I don't see that changing anytime soon and I spend enough time tweezing that if I ever were granted three wishes for myself, one of them would be to have every stray hair removed forever without any pain, just so I can be fucking done with it already! However, I feel good about myself. Well sometimes, it's hard for me to get rid of that old critic that reminds me of the time where I didn't feel so good about myself, but I feel like I can hold my own. Interestingly, my plastic surgeon told me that I was the ideal candidate because I didn't want an unrealistic image, I just wanted get rid of a part of my body that had been warped due to pregnancy. I guess if I were truly "I am woman, hear me roar", I would have worn that battled and bruised part of my body with pride, but I guess I need to not feel so at odds with something so changed in order to feel a bit more normal about myself.
So obviously my sexiness is very much tied to my appearance, which I wonder how healthy that can be. I mean, I know I can flirt up a good storm, I'm funny and playful. I'm pretty smart and what I'm most proud of, is that I'm a survivor of shitty situations in life and that has given me a confidence and swagger. That helps to give me self worth, but it doesn't really make me feel sexy, unless that self worth is what is to be considered sexy, which I guess in the end, can count for a whole lot of it. I think also, sexiness tied to appearance isn't necessarily awful. I mean, it's a pretty demanding thing if your ideal of sexy is unrealistic, like what Hollywood projects, but if you're a size 14, 16, 18 and you are rocking it, maybe that is a good thing because you're brave and open enough to see your beauty outside of the norm.
So I dunno, sexiness is attitude deep inside and not tied to how you look, or its something based on how you look and your desirability, or it's a little bit of both. Like just about everything in life, it's probably sitting somewhere close to the middle. I do believe that confidence is your sexiest asset, I'm just not sure where or what that confidence is based on is appropriate. I guess one of life's riddles for me, obviously enough to keep me blogging at 12:30 at night, but enough said on the topic, now it's time for me to get my beauty rest. ;)
Showing posts with label self esteem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self esteem. Show all posts
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Inner Beauty is Important...You're Suspended!
Lets see how fast I can blog. I have something on my mind and 10 minutes to get it out before I head off for the day...assuming the kids cooperate. In the end, I couldn't get this finished, I took off, running massively behind, but somehow managed to get the kids to school on time and avoid being pulled over despite seeing TWO police cars.
Anyhow, as I'm lying in bed resisting the need to get up and mucking around Facebook on my phone, I came across this article. Paul Gomille, birth of a controlling man and then read about this kid being suspended for his letter he had written and distributed. I first did a double take considering the source and his source, which he loathes, but okay, read on I did. Apparently this kerfuffle is going way high up the board and he's in deep doo doo. Me, I would have used it as an opportunity to open up discussion and really, suspend the kid? Considering that there is so much else going wrong in schools. How about suspending all the guys who aren't saying anything in public, but will call girls sluts because she had the nerve to kiss a fella. Suspend them!!!
So lets look at the letter (mind you I haven't had coffee yet, so I could be completely misreading it) So it starts off with a lot of ego-okay, teenage boy, typical. The next part, he's making two points. 1 is that you don't have to dress with your kilt barely covering your butt to be attractive, which is causing all the uproar and 2, true attractiveness comes from within.
So true attractiveness, we all agree comes from within right? Thank you teenage boy for stating it, you could have done it a little better, but I'll give you a mulligan on the fact you were probably watching TV, listening to music, eating a ton of food and sleep deprived when you wrote it. It's still very clear you put a lot of time, thought and effort into it. At first it almost seems like he is denigrating those who dress in revealing clothing as the opposite of intelligent and what have you, but I don't think so, just the opposite of those who aren't fitting within the mainstream. I think this is where it could have been written better...let this be a lesson to all you teens, give your letters you intend to distribute or soapbox speeches to your moms, we're great editors. We'll help you express your point and ideally keep your butt away from the fire. But really, isn't it important to hear that we don't have to look like Hollywood tells us to in order to be attractive? That it comes from good self esteem, being true to yourself? Don't we all wish we had this message sink in about 20 years ago? I sure as hell do.
Let me first state that I wholly believe that if a woman wants to walk down the street naked, she should be able to do so without fear of being assaulted in any way. I wanted to go to the first Slutwalk, but I was stuck doing something boring. But the question is, do we need to show a lot skin to be attractive? Of course not. There is nothing wrong with it and if it makes you feel great, go for it, but lets not beat around the bush here, there is a hell of a lot of pressure on young women to show a lot of skin and they might not be totally comfortable with that, but do it anyhow because they haven't acquired the age, wisdom and enough roadbumps to say "I don't give a fuck!"
I know I cringe every time I pass by a Catholic school and see skirts hiked up higher than the skirt on my bathing suit (yes I wear a skirt!!!). I cringe because I remember what it was like as a youngster feeling creeped out by the looks and attention of boys and men who wanted nothing more than to get into my pants. However I was told that that was a good thing, that that kind of attention, the popularity, was great, and maybe, just maybe out of all those guys, I would find my prince charming to whisk me away and have a sweet storybook romance with. There were a hell of a lot of toads to wean through. I was a pretty attractive girl, I had an hourglass figure and big boobs, needless to say I was REALLY popular in that regard. If I decided to wear something like what the gals in Catholic school wear every day, I'd have my choice of guys (all interested in one thing mind you). Instead, I generally wore clothes that covered me up. So my choices in expressing my attractiveness for me were feast or famine.
Nowadays, most of my fashion choices fall just below the knee and the skin I show usually consists of arms and calves. I like to dress well, I love to shop, I don't think there is a person who would say that I don't dress well. I do take a lot of pride in my appearance. I don't necessarily see my beauty as I should (a gabillion years of Hollywood programming takes its toll), but I do see my inner beauty in my strength of character, kindness and determination. That said, I do have a few summer items that do show some more cleavage, and I'm great with that. I didn't buy them thinking "ooh boy! These show off my chi chis, that ought to bring the men in" I bought them looking at the nipped waist and the flared skirt and scooped them up before some other woman could snatch it. So, if someone presumed to tell me that I was wearing what I was wearing to buy into the mainstream idea of beauty, I'd give them a good verbal smack.
So this kid Paul is straddling a fine line, because there is clearly a need for a lot of girls and women to be told that inner beauty is more important. Hell ,there are gabillion dollar ad campaigns that do so and we eat that up like its candy. Any blog post talking about inner beauty is circulated far and wide, and we all strive to tell our daughters or young women in life that they should wear what they want, be what size they want and not what Hollywood tells us what is sexy. We all lament about the negative idea of body image we are sent daily and many of us speak up about it. On the other hand, there are those of us who are fine dressing in something a little more revealing, we've been through hell and back again, we've done our inner work and at the end of the day, we want to show off our chi chis. I went to a birthday party this weekend and my friend was wearing something that showed off her figure very well, a lot of thigh and one of her shoulders. She looked great, not because she was showing off skin, but because she had gone through 40+ years of life and she knew she looked awesome. May we all live to live that way.
I ended up asking myself, would this kid have been suspended were he a female distributing this letter? I don't imagine she would. Now I agree that we gals earn the right to speak on these issues because we live them, but at the same time, isn't it good to open up a meaningful dialogue with the other half about these issues? Here's a kid who has an opinion, you might not agree with it, but it's well thought out and he's passionate about it, so lets suspend him from a place of education? There's nothing hateful or nasty in it, I would hardly label this kid as controlling or misogynistic based on this letter...maybe he is, but that's not what his fellow classmates are reporting. He didn't say that women shouldn't dress like sluts if they didn't want to get raped like one of Toronto's finest...and I think the cop got less punishment than this kid! Maybe he's a little old fashioned and needs to be enlightened to another point of view, sure, but DO IT!!! It's a school!!!
So Paul, you're kind of on the right track. A lot of people do need the message that inner beauty is what counts, and sometimes it is nice to hear that coming from the opposite sex, since so many of you guys will often notice those who dress and look and act Hollywood. I think the key is, recognizing that dressing a little revealing can and might not be synonymous with buying into Hollywood. However the road to getting to dressing with a little more showing without drinking the Kool-Aid is a long and hard one that is usually traveled with lots of mistakes, stumbles and challenges. Something that is usually learned over the course of years and takes a lot of trial by fire and experience to sink in. Part of being a teenager and young adult is learning those lessons, often the hard way. What is encouraging though is that this is being discussed so the lessons might not be so bumpy and hopefully, Paul and his school/board will be open enough to see the others point of view and have something meaningful come from it. Bottom line is, a discussion has been opened, its been opened respectfully and with good intent and it shouldn't be shut down, least of all in a school.
Anyhow, as I'm lying in bed resisting the need to get up and mucking around Facebook on my phone, I came across this article. Paul Gomille, birth of a controlling man and then read about this kid being suspended for his letter he had written and distributed. I first did a double take considering the source and his source, which he loathes, but okay, read on I did. Apparently this kerfuffle is going way high up the board and he's in deep doo doo. Me, I would have used it as an opportunity to open up discussion and really, suspend the kid? Considering that there is so much else going wrong in schools. How about suspending all the guys who aren't saying anything in public, but will call girls sluts because she had the nerve to kiss a fella. Suspend them!!!
So lets look at the letter (mind you I haven't had coffee yet, so I could be completely misreading it) So it starts off with a lot of ego-okay, teenage boy, typical. The next part, he's making two points. 1 is that you don't have to dress with your kilt barely covering your butt to be attractive, which is causing all the uproar and 2, true attractiveness comes from within.
So true attractiveness, we all agree comes from within right? Thank you teenage boy for stating it, you could have done it a little better, but I'll give you a mulligan on the fact you were probably watching TV, listening to music, eating a ton of food and sleep deprived when you wrote it. It's still very clear you put a lot of time, thought and effort into it. At first it almost seems like he is denigrating those who dress in revealing clothing as the opposite of intelligent and what have you, but I don't think so, just the opposite of those who aren't fitting within the mainstream. I think this is where it could have been written better...let this be a lesson to all you teens, give your letters you intend to distribute or soapbox speeches to your moms, we're great editors. We'll help you express your point and ideally keep your butt away from the fire. But really, isn't it important to hear that we don't have to look like Hollywood tells us to in order to be attractive? That it comes from good self esteem, being true to yourself? Don't we all wish we had this message sink in about 20 years ago? I sure as hell do.
Let me first state that I wholly believe that if a woman wants to walk down the street naked, she should be able to do so without fear of being assaulted in any way. I wanted to go to the first Slutwalk, but I was stuck doing something boring. But the question is, do we need to show a lot skin to be attractive? Of course not. There is nothing wrong with it and if it makes you feel great, go for it, but lets not beat around the bush here, there is a hell of a lot of pressure on young women to show a lot of skin and they might not be totally comfortable with that, but do it anyhow because they haven't acquired the age, wisdom and enough roadbumps to say "I don't give a fuck!"
I know I cringe every time I pass by a Catholic school and see skirts hiked up higher than the skirt on my bathing suit (yes I wear a skirt!!!). I cringe because I remember what it was like as a youngster feeling creeped out by the looks and attention of boys and men who wanted nothing more than to get into my pants. However I was told that that was a good thing, that that kind of attention, the popularity, was great, and maybe, just maybe out of all those guys, I would find my prince charming to whisk me away and have a sweet storybook romance with. There were a hell of a lot of toads to wean through. I was a pretty attractive girl, I had an hourglass figure and big boobs, needless to say I was REALLY popular in that regard. If I decided to wear something like what the gals in Catholic school wear every day, I'd have my choice of guys (all interested in one thing mind you). Instead, I generally wore clothes that covered me up. So my choices in expressing my attractiveness for me were feast or famine.
Nowadays, most of my fashion choices fall just below the knee and the skin I show usually consists of arms and calves. I like to dress well, I love to shop, I don't think there is a person who would say that I don't dress well. I do take a lot of pride in my appearance. I don't necessarily see my beauty as I should (a gabillion years of Hollywood programming takes its toll), but I do see my inner beauty in my strength of character, kindness and determination. That said, I do have a few summer items that do show some more cleavage, and I'm great with that. I didn't buy them thinking "ooh boy! These show off my chi chis, that ought to bring the men in" I bought them looking at the nipped waist and the flared skirt and scooped them up before some other woman could snatch it. So, if someone presumed to tell me that I was wearing what I was wearing to buy into the mainstream idea of beauty, I'd give them a good verbal smack.
So this kid Paul is straddling a fine line, because there is clearly a need for a lot of girls and women to be told that inner beauty is more important. Hell ,there are gabillion dollar ad campaigns that do so and we eat that up like its candy. Any blog post talking about inner beauty is circulated far and wide, and we all strive to tell our daughters or young women in life that they should wear what they want, be what size they want and not what Hollywood tells us what is sexy. We all lament about the negative idea of body image we are sent daily and many of us speak up about it. On the other hand, there are those of us who are fine dressing in something a little more revealing, we've been through hell and back again, we've done our inner work and at the end of the day, we want to show off our chi chis. I went to a birthday party this weekend and my friend was wearing something that showed off her figure very well, a lot of thigh and one of her shoulders. She looked great, not because she was showing off skin, but because she had gone through 40+ years of life and she knew she looked awesome. May we all live to live that way.
I ended up asking myself, would this kid have been suspended were he a female distributing this letter? I don't imagine she would. Now I agree that we gals earn the right to speak on these issues because we live them, but at the same time, isn't it good to open up a meaningful dialogue with the other half about these issues? Here's a kid who has an opinion, you might not agree with it, but it's well thought out and he's passionate about it, so lets suspend him from a place of education? There's nothing hateful or nasty in it, I would hardly label this kid as controlling or misogynistic based on this letter...maybe he is, but that's not what his fellow classmates are reporting. He didn't say that women shouldn't dress like sluts if they didn't want to get raped like one of Toronto's finest...and I think the cop got less punishment than this kid! Maybe he's a little old fashioned and needs to be enlightened to another point of view, sure, but DO IT!!! It's a school!!!
So Paul, you're kind of on the right track. A lot of people do need the message that inner beauty is what counts, and sometimes it is nice to hear that coming from the opposite sex, since so many of you guys will often notice those who dress and look and act Hollywood. I think the key is, recognizing that dressing a little revealing can and might not be synonymous with buying into Hollywood. However the road to getting to dressing with a little more showing without drinking the Kool-Aid is a long and hard one that is usually traveled with lots of mistakes, stumbles and challenges. Something that is usually learned over the course of years and takes a lot of trial by fire and experience to sink in. Part of being a teenager and young adult is learning those lessons, often the hard way. What is encouraging though is that this is being discussed so the lessons might not be so bumpy and hopefully, Paul and his school/board will be open enough to see the others point of view and have something meaningful come from it. Bottom line is, a discussion has been opened, its been opened respectfully and with good intent and it shouldn't be shut down, least of all in a school.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
The constant war
There is an ongoing battle inside me, every minute of every day. To best understand it, it's probably easiest to visualize a bunch of teeny tiny little Joys each representing character traits all residing in my brain somewhere. It's a nice room, lots of velvet, sparkly things and martinis. And in it, all the little Joys are running about and it somewhat looks like the floor of some mega stock exchange.
Now some of these Joys have to be managed, like Irresponsible Joy who would just like to lay on the couch eating popcorn and watching HGTV til the cows come home. Or Speed Demon Joy who would like to go 160 on the 401 because she likes the sound the little red car makes when she accelerates. Others are often front and center when it comes to my morals and social views, like Left Wing Joy, or Feminist Joy...though Feminist Joy had to be locked in the cage when Vanity Joy won the vote and I got the tummy tuck. She was PISSED!
The biggest of those little Joys is Insecure, followed by Anxiety...don't worry, the other little Joys are staging a coup. They like to throw their weight around a lot. Not always, but when they decide to do so, the rest of the little Joys have a challenge on their hands. Anyhow, I'm fuddling about my morning, getting all antsy about whether I had inadvertently pissed someone off. There was no foundation in this fear, again Insecure Joy is running the show and she's pretty much Chicken Little. Normally what happens is that I get into an internal tizzy until something happens that brings me back down to Earth again and its systems normal. However this morning just as Insecure Joy was stomping around, another little Joy spoke. She's been quiet for some time...well, she took a hell of a beating over the past year and has been in recovery. It was Confident Joy. She said "Screw this! You've done nothing wrong and if this person is pissed off at you, so fucking be it. You're beautiful, witty, funny, kind and one hell of a mother, friend and partner, anyone should count themselves lucky to have you in their ranks!"
There was a silence in the room, all the other Joys were shocked, you could hear a pin drop. Insecure Joy for a moment was gobsmacked, she mustered "I thought you were dead!"
"Apparently not" responded Sarcastic Joy.
"Fucking A!" yelled Entitled Joy. "We demand better treatment, we deserve it, no more worrying about pissing people off for stupid reasons, you hear that Insecure?"
"We feel great! Lets go shopping!!!" someone let Irresponsible Joy out of her cage, but she made a good suggestion and was taken up on that a bit later.
"Lets go tell So and So how we feel about the way they're behaving towards us, Julia Sugarbaker style" That's Indignant Joy, she's been dying to do that...gotta indulge her in that some day.
"Lets blog! Blog! Blog! Blog!" Blogger Joy of course.
"NO! We're sticking with the plan, we're going to hand it over to Anxiety and end up worrying all day, hence ruining it for everyone." Insecure Joy asserts.
"No, we're not. We're going to pick up, get on with our day, have a good time, wear a smile and enjoy all the good karma that we've racked up in spades coming our way. We're great, we have great friends that love us and we are worthy of that" Confident Joy calmly states.
Everyone is silent again. And then like in some cliched 80's movie, all the other Joys move to the side of the room of Confident Joy and the vote is carried. A gabillion to 2.
Confident Joy took a minute to enjoy the moment, it was nice being back, she knows she can't maintain this for very long right now, but it put everyone on notice that she intends to come back full throttle. Optimistic Joy is grinning ear to ear and Hopeful Joy cannot wait for the day.
Oh and Worst Case Scenario Joy sincerely hopes that you don't take this story to mean that I'm crazy and have me locked away. She made me write that.
Now some of these Joys have to be managed, like Irresponsible Joy who would just like to lay on the couch eating popcorn and watching HGTV til the cows come home. Or Speed Demon Joy who would like to go 160 on the 401 because she likes the sound the little red car makes when she accelerates. Others are often front and center when it comes to my morals and social views, like Left Wing Joy, or Feminist Joy...though Feminist Joy had to be locked in the cage when Vanity Joy won the vote and I got the tummy tuck. She was PISSED!
The biggest of those little Joys is Insecure, followed by Anxiety...don't worry, the other little Joys are staging a coup. They like to throw their weight around a lot. Not always, but when they decide to do so, the rest of the little Joys have a challenge on their hands. Anyhow, I'm fuddling about my morning, getting all antsy about whether I had inadvertently pissed someone off. There was no foundation in this fear, again Insecure Joy is running the show and she's pretty much Chicken Little. Normally what happens is that I get into an internal tizzy until something happens that brings me back down to Earth again and its systems normal. However this morning just as Insecure Joy was stomping around, another little Joy spoke. She's been quiet for some time...well, she took a hell of a beating over the past year and has been in recovery. It was Confident Joy. She said "Screw this! You've done nothing wrong and if this person is pissed off at you, so fucking be it. You're beautiful, witty, funny, kind and one hell of a mother, friend and partner, anyone should count themselves lucky to have you in their ranks!"
There was a silence in the room, all the other Joys were shocked, you could hear a pin drop. Insecure Joy for a moment was gobsmacked, she mustered "I thought you were dead!"
"Apparently not" responded Sarcastic Joy.
"Fucking A!" yelled Entitled Joy. "We demand better treatment, we deserve it, no more worrying about pissing people off for stupid reasons, you hear that Insecure?"
"We feel great! Lets go shopping!!!" someone let Irresponsible Joy out of her cage, but she made a good suggestion and was taken up on that a bit later.
"Lets go tell So and So how we feel about the way they're behaving towards us, Julia Sugarbaker style" That's Indignant Joy, she's been dying to do that...gotta indulge her in that some day.
"Lets blog! Blog! Blog! Blog!" Blogger Joy of course.
"NO! We're sticking with the plan, we're going to hand it over to Anxiety and end up worrying all day, hence ruining it for everyone." Insecure Joy asserts.
"No, we're not. We're going to pick up, get on with our day, have a good time, wear a smile and enjoy all the good karma that we've racked up in spades coming our way. We're great, we have great friends that love us and we are worthy of that" Confident Joy calmly states.
Everyone is silent again. And then like in some cliched 80's movie, all the other Joys move to the side of the room of Confident Joy and the vote is carried. A gabillion to 2.
Confident Joy took a minute to enjoy the moment, it was nice being back, she knows she can't maintain this for very long right now, but it put everyone on notice that she intends to come back full throttle. Optimistic Joy is grinning ear to ear and Hopeful Joy cannot wait for the day.
Oh and Worst Case Scenario Joy sincerely hopes that you don't take this story to mean that I'm crazy and have me locked away. She made me write that.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Aging Gracefully...or not!
Okay, for all the ranting and raving I do on having a positive self image around one's body, I do not have one. Do many women? It's ridiculous when you think of it really, that so many of us do not see the good qualities about ourselves, and I am the Queen of the Ridiculous, except where it concerns my hair, my hair is amazing.
My body on the other hand, well me and my body have had issues since the arrival of first child. Mainly, that post pregnancy pouch that so many of us get after our offspring has twisted and warped our abdomens into something NONE of the pregnancy books warn you about. Now since last year, I've been working hard on taking better care of myself, I lost close to 70 pounds, began drinking more water, eating my vitamins, saying my prayers (sorry, stupid pop culture reference, I'm curious to see who gets it) but all in all, it's been a work in progress.All except that damn pouch. After doing 50 sit ups a day for close to 6 months and not a sign of any change, I started thinking of that option the crazy raging "I am woman, hear me roar" Joy is not supposed to ever consider.
In November, I made an appointment to see a plastic surgeon.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself lying on a surgery table, my arms spread out like Christ (not very comforting) terrified, but also wildly excited. I also had the rude awakening that my surgeon was my age. See, I've lived in this fantasy world, where surgeons are all people older than me because it take so much time to get that level of expertise...that world was shattered about 3 minutes before the anesthetic kicked in. When I first woke up, I was thrilled that I was alive, then I was thrilled that I had gone through with it. Then I begged for some more morphine and a drink of water. Morphine came, water did not, they were afraid of me throwing up, and despite my assurances that anesthetic does not have that affect on me, they erred on the side of being diligent, but shutting me up and gave me some ice chips.
Somehow I managed to get dressed with the help of my mom and got home, thankfully the hospital is less than 5 minutes away. I lay in bed for a few days, being well taken care of by my loved ones. It was an effort to get to the washroom, which is an ensuite, but by Sunday, I was feeling pretty freaking good. By Monday, I had taken myself off the really heavy painkillers and by Wednesday I was down to a couple of Advil as needed. So, by this I conclude I have mutant healing powers. Anyhow, I'm back up and running largely. I'm not allowed to lift heavy objects, have a bath or have sex, so I've been taking cold showers and eating copious amounts of chocolate.
So why? That's the million dollar question. Because I hated my body. I didn't hate the curves, I didn't hate the stretch marks or the flappy arms or even the two new lines in my forehead (though I'm not overly fond of them either). I hated that damn pouch. It felt like it wasn't a part of me. When I went into the plastic surgeon, I told her that the goal wasn't to lose weight, I was fine with the 186lbs of Joy that I was, I just needed to stop looking like a kangaroo. It's a drastic measure and for someone who is always railing about how the media pushes forward an unrealistic image of women, I sure drank the Kool Aid. That said, I've so far lost a grand total of 3lbs. I took a look at myself in pants today, which has been the first time I've been able to wear anything other than oversized PJs or stretchy tights and I smiled, I was thrilled. I fit an image that I wanted, which I have to say is still far off from that size 2, perky tits and perfect ass. I still sag, I still flap, I still have my lines and greys, but all those signs of aging I can live with, I accept them. The one part of my body that felt insanely out of place was gone and I had (as a friend who is handling far more significant body issues like a woman with ovaries of steel, once told me) "my body on my terms". So while I did fall into that trap, I like to keep a shred of "I am woman hear me roar Joy" in thinking that I did it to become a 180lb woman who is still fat, but pouchless, and I'm completely fine with that.
My body on the other hand, well me and my body have had issues since the arrival of first child. Mainly, that post pregnancy pouch that so many of us get after our offspring has twisted and warped our abdomens into something NONE of the pregnancy books warn you about. Now since last year, I've been working hard on taking better care of myself, I lost close to 70 pounds, began drinking more water, eating my vitamins, saying my prayers (sorry, stupid pop culture reference, I'm curious to see who gets it) but all in all, it's been a work in progress.All except that damn pouch. After doing 50 sit ups a day for close to 6 months and not a sign of any change, I started thinking of that option the crazy raging "I am woman, hear me roar" Joy is not supposed to ever consider.
In November, I made an appointment to see a plastic surgeon.
A couple of weeks ago, I found myself lying on a surgery table, my arms spread out like Christ (not very comforting) terrified, but also wildly excited. I also had the rude awakening that my surgeon was my age. See, I've lived in this fantasy world, where surgeons are all people older than me because it take so much time to get that level of expertise...that world was shattered about 3 minutes before the anesthetic kicked in. When I first woke up, I was thrilled that I was alive, then I was thrilled that I had gone through with it. Then I begged for some more morphine and a drink of water. Morphine came, water did not, they were afraid of me throwing up, and despite my assurances that anesthetic does not have that affect on me, they erred on the side of being diligent, but shutting me up and gave me some ice chips.
Somehow I managed to get dressed with the help of my mom and got home, thankfully the hospital is less than 5 minutes away. I lay in bed for a few days, being well taken care of by my loved ones. It was an effort to get to the washroom, which is an ensuite, but by Sunday, I was feeling pretty freaking good. By Monday, I had taken myself off the really heavy painkillers and by Wednesday I was down to a couple of Advil as needed. So, by this I conclude I have mutant healing powers. Anyhow, I'm back up and running largely. I'm not allowed to lift heavy objects, have a bath or have sex, so I've been taking cold showers and eating copious amounts of chocolate.
So why? That's the million dollar question. Because I hated my body. I didn't hate the curves, I didn't hate the stretch marks or the flappy arms or even the two new lines in my forehead (though I'm not overly fond of them either). I hated that damn pouch. It felt like it wasn't a part of me. When I went into the plastic surgeon, I told her that the goal wasn't to lose weight, I was fine with the 186lbs of Joy that I was, I just needed to stop looking like a kangaroo. It's a drastic measure and for someone who is always railing about how the media pushes forward an unrealistic image of women, I sure drank the Kool Aid. That said, I've so far lost a grand total of 3lbs. I took a look at myself in pants today, which has been the first time I've been able to wear anything other than oversized PJs or stretchy tights and I smiled, I was thrilled. I fit an image that I wanted, which I have to say is still far off from that size 2, perky tits and perfect ass. I still sag, I still flap, I still have my lines and greys, but all those signs of aging I can live with, I accept them. The one part of my body that felt insanely out of place was gone and I had (as a friend who is handling far more significant body issues like a woman with ovaries of steel, once told me) "my body on my terms". So while I did fall into that trap, I like to keep a shred of "I am woman hear me roar Joy" in thinking that I did it to become a 180lb woman who is still fat, but pouchless, and I'm completely fine with that.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Objectivity
Well the first thing about it, should have me questioning what the Hell I'm doing this late or early in the day writing blog posts, but I kind have had another "aha" moment where I've survived another challenge, where I thought I would falter. In fact I felt myself faltering and now I'm more tired than anything else...which makes sense given that its 2am.
I've been looking at old photos, reading old letters, thinking of the past and I'm gaining the ability to look at it objectively. My therapist told me that this would be the next step and it feels good. I can pinpoint moments where I didn't feel safe in my life, my relationship and it's been a lot of the time, and some of it was me, some of it was the relationship. Largely I've been focusing on the woman I was, and the woman I am just starting to be. She was always in there, I knew her when I was younger, in my teen years, in college. She's spunky, she has fire, life, beauty. It's not that the previous me didn't, but she was subdued, she hid behind her kids and let complacency settle in because she put her family and her husband above any and all needs for herself. Okay, enough talking in the third person, I'm annoying myself. I look at pictures of me a year, two years, three years ago. I look sweet and loving, warm and nurturing, just like a mom should be, but there was no woman in there. I lived under a shadow of never living up to this ideal woman, one I never could possibly be, so I think in a sense I gave up and forgot about who I was.
I remember a conversation with one of our mediators and she asked me, who I was before I had kids, before I put my family before myself. I stumbled along, remembering short glimpses of some spunk, and determination, but really I had a hard time picturing it. Mind you, getting up from a left hook to the jaw (figuratively) tends to dull your memory, and mine is shitty to begin with. But now, as I continue to live my life, on my own, as my own woman, I'm remembering. I was hell on wheels! Always ready with a rant or cheeky comment, all fired up and ready to change the world. That slipped away slowly as I put everyone needs and wants above my own and eventually lost that person. However the good news is, that I feel that person coming back. Now mind you, I'm planning on being a bit more tempered, and while I will move heaven and earth to make sure every one of my children's needs are met, I'm also going to honour some of my own too.
I need to be a woman. I need to have a life outside the home. I need to have goals and dreams (I already have them). I need to not define my life by supporting someone be the best that they can be. I need to feel safe, wanted and beautiful and not second rate, if I am going to be in a relationship. I need to take over the world. Most of all, I deserve all these things, especially the world domination.
I look at the woman I was a year or two ago, and the woman I am today, the woman I am today has a few more grey hairs, has a nice worry line in the middle of my brow (ITS THERE!) and has shed enough tears to fill a swimming pool. I am also stronger, more loving, more competent and way more hawt! Yeah, I said it lol I'm also more hopeful and more entitled to all those good things that I would wish for my children, friends, loved ones in a relationship. I feel more confident and ready to take steps out into the world for myself and plot my own course. Someone asked me today if I'm enjoying being single, and since I got my tattoo (What the hell was in that ink John? I feel like a brand new freaking person!) I can say I am. I'm enjoying getting reacquainted and learning about the woman I'm becoming and I'm liking her...a lot. That's more than I can say for a very long time and it feels amazing!
I've been looking at old photos, reading old letters, thinking of the past and I'm gaining the ability to look at it objectively. My therapist told me that this would be the next step and it feels good. I can pinpoint moments where I didn't feel safe in my life, my relationship and it's been a lot of the time, and some of it was me, some of it was the relationship. Largely I've been focusing on the woman I was, and the woman I am just starting to be. She was always in there, I knew her when I was younger, in my teen years, in college. She's spunky, she has fire, life, beauty. It's not that the previous me didn't, but she was subdued, she hid behind her kids and let complacency settle in because she put her family and her husband above any and all needs for herself. Okay, enough talking in the third person, I'm annoying myself. I look at pictures of me a year, two years, three years ago. I look sweet and loving, warm and nurturing, just like a mom should be, but there was no woman in there. I lived under a shadow of never living up to this ideal woman, one I never could possibly be, so I think in a sense I gave up and forgot about who I was.
I remember a conversation with one of our mediators and she asked me, who I was before I had kids, before I put my family before myself. I stumbled along, remembering short glimpses of some spunk, and determination, but really I had a hard time picturing it. Mind you, getting up from a left hook to the jaw (figuratively) tends to dull your memory, and mine is shitty to begin with. But now, as I continue to live my life, on my own, as my own woman, I'm remembering. I was hell on wheels! Always ready with a rant or cheeky comment, all fired up and ready to change the world. That slipped away slowly as I put everyone needs and wants above my own and eventually lost that person. However the good news is, that I feel that person coming back. Now mind you, I'm planning on being a bit more tempered, and while I will move heaven and earth to make sure every one of my children's needs are met, I'm also going to honour some of my own too.
I need to be a woman. I need to have a life outside the home. I need to have goals and dreams (I already have them). I need to not define my life by supporting someone be the best that they can be. I need to feel safe, wanted and beautiful and not second rate, if I am going to be in a relationship. I need to take over the world. Most of all, I deserve all these things, especially the world domination.
I look at the woman I was a year or two ago, and the woman I am today, the woman I am today has a few more grey hairs, has a nice worry line in the middle of my brow (ITS THERE!) and has shed enough tears to fill a swimming pool. I am also stronger, more loving, more competent and way more hawt! Yeah, I said it lol I'm also more hopeful and more entitled to all those good things that I would wish for my children, friends, loved ones in a relationship. I feel more confident and ready to take steps out into the world for myself and plot my own course. Someone asked me today if I'm enjoying being single, and since I got my tattoo (What the hell was in that ink John? I feel like a brand new freaking person!) I can say I am. I'm enjoying getting reacquainted and learning about the woman I'm becoming and I'm liking her...a lot. That's more than I can say for a very long time and it feels amazing!
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