Preliminary Results

You may have guessed, no news is not good news. Not in this case. You can be sure if my skin were shrinking by inches, I'd be telling you about it! Alas, so far, I see no difference. 

Take a look...

Not seein' anything yet, but I'm not planning to quit. If I have forty-five days with miracle cream, I'll try to put it on for at least 30 before I request my money back, thank you very much. Which gives me a few more weeks to think about what this means to me.

As a new teenager, I felt the pressure to look nice in a swim suit. I didn't care for my legs or arms and my chest was nothing to write home about. It's easy to scoff now, at what I thought were "big" upper arms. They may not have been defined, but they sure weren't as hefty as I imagined them. My legs aren't particularly shapely without high heals forcing my calves to flex and be seen. But I always had my stomach.

While it wasn't a six-pack, it did have two lines of definition (not the parentheses I have now). I'd wear a two piece any time I could. Not because I was so proud of it, but I was confident it looked good and helped average out the "flaws" I saw elsewhere. This is the kind of heartless evaluation I was talking about when I said we objectify ourselves. It's ruthless. Much like the guy in high school who said I'd be fine (as in "hot") if it weren't for my nose. Oh, the nose-hating that ensued. I've gotten used to how my nose looks and no longer believe it has the power to make me ugly, but I have to say, a bit of me quakes when I hear that the nose and ears never stop growing. Never? Ever?! How much are we talking? Millimeters? And then I try to get back to worrying about something important. 

Here's how it looked before twelve pounds of babies.

Ahh...please excuse my shallow self while I miss that stomach. 

And I must follow quickly with, I wouldn't trade the wonderful people my children are to have said stomach back. No sir. 

On the other hand, I don't believe there's any value in pretending we don't feel whatever it is we feel. Feelings are like flags that go up when there's something going on in our minds or emotions that needs addressing. So, Feelings, I hear you. What do you have to tell me?

I feel inferior to people with the ideal body type.

I loved what one of you said about people having different tastes in music and food, but we let the media convince us that everyone likes the same type of woman. I asked my husband about this once, since he's my insider on the male world. I knew he preferred women with smaller chests and brunette hair -- not the "ideal." So I asked him, "Why do guys react to women who are blonde and thin and chesty the way they do? Isn't it possible that half of them actually like a different look in a woman?" He said they might, but that image is repeatedly associated with sex, so guys respond because they like sex. 

Later, I was watching a show where real people went on blind dates. Over and over, guys would say the normal girl they met was "hot." Not cute. Hot. As in attractive and up to standard. So maybe, in real life with real people, the ways a person can be beautiful are much wider than the prescribed look. Which would mean crazy things like: being pear-shaped isn't unfortunate. 

I feel obligated to use my clothing to get my look as close to the ideal as possible. 

I stumbled across a nudist blog a while ago and spent some mesmerized minutes scrolling. Here were people who're completely honest about how their bodies look. They don't use clothing to couch or flatter or trick the eye. The thought is terrifying, but I wondered if they get more soul honest too, when they stop hiding their physical attributes. Seems like it would be a little freeing to let people see the truth about you. 

The ugly extension of the obligation to other people is: if you don't look close enough to the ideal, you shouldn't wear certain things. How many older women never wear shorts, sweltering because they won't subject people to the sight of their veins or cellulite? And that's a blurry line because they may think it's their own pride that keeps them covering up, but I don't. We've all heard judgy whisperings directed elsewhere and responded by vowing not to be in that humiliating position. I think we hide out of shame, not pride. 

I feel frustrated because I've worked so hard and no one can tell. 

I'll admit, I've listened jealously while people admire women who've worked out and had a significant change in appearance. I've felt my ire raise when I've mentioned going to the gym and they expressed surprise that I work out. Yep. It makes me grumpy sometimes. I fume, "This isn't just! This isn't fair!" and then I turn on my body. "Why can't you slim down like so-and-so? Why can't you be skinny even if I eat this or that?" It's embarrassing to say out loud, but it's true. 

And then a friend of mine talked about her metabolism slowing again now that she's in her fifties. She said, "It's okay that other people can eat it and I can't. It's my body and I want to do what's right for it because I'm the one who has to live with it." It was so refreshing to see someone who's come to terms with what her body needs. I've been so inspired, it's brought on a new level of healthy eating for me. She showed me the way out of comparison and feeling cheated. I've gone from feeling angry with my body to thinking about what it needs and trying to give it that. Which feels a lot like loving it and now, the idea of appreciating it, even the saggy parts, seems more doable.