You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

Years ago, when I had a momentary lapse of judgement and thought I was called to be a high school English teacher, I enrolled in a MAT program to pursue my teaching degree.

One of the two courses I took in this program was a nonfiction writing class. One assignment that I wrote was on the concept of the "ideal figure" or La Bella Figura.

I started off this missive with these few paragraphs:

“You’re skinny.” I looked up from tying my work apron from around my waist, confused as to who Angel was addressing. There she stood, looking at me, her yes somewhat narrowed, her mouth a little agape, her hips firmly pressed into a stance. “Just look at you. You’re so tiny compared to me.”

“No way. Trust me, I have plenty of excess baggage to lose. Look!” I grabbed the excess fat on my stomach to show her and then turned and slapped my rear end. “See? I am so not skinny.”

Leslie, another coworker, just shakes her head at the two of us. “Darcey, you act like you’re enormous and you’re not. You look fine just as you are.” I just shook my head and continued to point out my numerous flaws, as they both tried to convince me I had a good figure.

Studies have shown that women, once they get into a group of other women, use what they perceive as their body flaws, as a way to bond. Magazine covers are constantly boasting that they hold the way to dress ten pounds thinner or the secret formula to help people lose ten pounds in the blink of an eye. On the same covers of these magazines is some slim hipped, yet busty actress of model , collarbones protruding, looking as though she could probably stand to eat a sandwich or two, yet they are on the cover because they possess the perfect figure. The perfect figure, the ideal shape, la bella figura that the majority of us seem to chase for the bulk of our lives.

This piece of writing is over 10 years old and I still find myself trapped in situations like I wrote about.

It drives me crazy that women in groups always point out their perceived flaws, shame themselves about their appearance and say they shouldn't eat something. Or that they're going to be bad by eating a piece of candy, etc.

I'm guilty of these offenses myself, but I try my hardest not to be, because it's not healthy for me or for others around me who may be struggling with their own appearance, but just don't speak out.

I still remember the time a dear friend came to me upset because she was tired of being told she was too thin. I was amazed that anyone could be upset by being told that.

I understand better now, since my changing appearance is fodder for unwanted compliments.

Being called skinny isn't always wanted.

Having your appearance commented on is not always wanted

Shaming yourself isn't helping anyone, most of all you.

Yet, I do it. It is a fight to try to compliment myself on something daily, because I try to be kind to myself.

Although, what I think about myself is most likely a thousand times worse than what anyone could say to my face

The pressures I put on myself to be perfect--when it comes to work, volunteering, knitting, life in general--there are reasons I find myself so drained I need to put myself to bed at 7:30pm in a Friday night

I wonder why/who taught me it was okay to be disgusted my my own self. That it is okay to insult my own appearance and point out numerous flaws.

I think of the people who used to tell me that I'd be pretty if I lost weight. That if my double chin disappeared, more men would find me attractive (which was said to me by a man I was involved with). The people who asked me why I didn't want to lose weight and be healthy.

And now, I don't trust people that call me beautiful, thin, etc, because for so long, I was told I was none of these things

Which brings tears to my eyes, because I want to see myself the way others do, but I am incapable.

And I know a lot of that stems from my past. Being bullied did not create great self esteem in this woman.

I envy people, particularly women, who seem comfortable in their own skin to wear whatever they want, such as tank tops.

I wear them too, however, I hate baring my upper arms. I force myself to do it to get over my fear of being ridiculed for them.

But I hear voices in my head telling me that I'm too fat to wear what I want. That I should hide in baggy clothes. That shorts don't look good on me, etc

Again, what I think about myself in my own head is worse than what random strangers are thinking about me, if I even register on their radar.

It makes me think of how I ended my piece on the definition of la bella figura, discussing belly dancing.

Once upon a time, I belonged to an all female gym. One night, they hosted a belly dancing class.

I, having the dance skills of a spastic hippo, did not participate, but I watched it from the safety of the treadmill.

The instructor was this beautiful, round woman, who wore a ensemble that bared her midriff. She beamed as she led the class, moving her hips and stomach in a sensual fashion, radiating confidence as she did so, appearing 100% comfortable in her own skin.

Just one moment of my life, I'd like to have that belly dancer's confidence. To be comfortable in my own skin.

For her confidence to me was beautiful.

And I find it rare.

Women I think are stunning shame themselves in front of me, talking about how large they are, crack jokes about eating their feelings away.

These barbs they point at themselves are like daggers to my own psyche, as if these beautiful women would say that about themselves, what on earth are they not saying out loud?

It's a vicious cycle, one that too many are complacent with.

I, for one, keep my lips sealed, as I don't dare go down that rabbit hole. For crying out loud, I document that my emotional eating led to me weighing close to 300 pounds. I had weight loss surgery to alter my appearance. I would probably get plastic surgery to remove loose skin if my insurance would pay for it, still trying to turn myself into a figure that might not get mocked for her appearance.

I find myself at a loss on how to stop this cycle, this habit of women to gather round and shame themselves.

I wonder if even cave women did it.

Possibly so.

I also wonder how to get more comfortable in my own skin.

I have no concrete answers, except I try to look in the mirror and find something positive to say about my appearance daily.

I accept the love and affection I get from my cats and dogs, as my cats sure as heck don't love everyone and if they love me, I must be doing more right then keeping their bowls fed.

And I think of the relationships I have in my life, the connections I have with people of all ages and realize that I'm not some horrible monster.

And I think of Miss Bettie, one of the residents at a nursing home I visit monthly for work.

Miss Bettie and I have known each other for years, through my fluctuating sizes.

And Miss Bettie always grabs my hand, kisses it and tells me how much she loves me.

And if Miss Bettie loves me, then I must be doing something right in my life.