LJ Idol - Week 2 - Deconstruction

[applespice]

The body I inhabit is not always mine.

Sometimes it is solid, strong, and lean - all of the things that I have worked so hard for it to be. When I walk I feel the muscles move under my skin like steel under silk. When I stand I find myself in photo-ready poses, one hip jutting out and my face turned subconsciously toward the light. I am confident and proud, and talk candidly about my workout routines and how carefully I design my diet. Out in the world my body is beautiful, healthy, and most of all - mine.

In the mirror, my body does not belong to me. I am trapped behind the glass, a grotesque parody of myself. Where before there were muscles and lean lines, now there are pouches and gobbets and shelves of fat, disfiguring the image of perfection that I have conjured in my moments away from my reflection. In the mirror, the hours in the gym disappear. All I can see are the ways that I've cheated - the Reese's Peanut Butter Cup I had at lunch, or that time I took the elevator instead of the stairs.

Skinny. Skinny. Skinnyskinnyskinnyskinnyskinnyskinnyskinnyskinny...

I suck in my stomach. I turn to one side, then the other, then the first again. Tears come to my eyes. I blame myself, God, the universe, my parents. What did I do to deserve this?? I've worked so hard.

The body is no longer a body at all. It's an animal, a monster, a shapeless and inhuman blob of failure and disappointment. It certainly isn't me.

For the next week and a half, I eat perfectly. No slip-ups. I work harder than ever at the gym. Everything starts to come back into alignment. I avoid punishing myself - I know better than to think that works; I've tried it before. Instead I focus on healthy goal-setting. Health is happiness, right?

Inevitably, though, I stumble. I eat a packet of chips instead of carrot sticks. I quit a workout early. Then again I am faced with the self that is not me and the body that is not mine.

Sometimes I feel as though these islands of self-hatred and frustration are inescapable. My stomach will never be flat enough. I will never be skinny enough. I'm not sure if I even know what "skinny" means anymore, if it's a mantra or a curse, a descriptor or an obsession or a lifestyle. Maybe it's just a social construct, totally meaningless on its own. Maybe one day I won't care anymore.

Comments

[ameaston22.livejournal.com]

I believe that we (women) can all relate to this. I'll look in the mirror and see every imperfection. The small stretch marks on my hips and thighs, the wide child bearing hips, the tiny little stomach still left from having my toddler...all these things just stick out and make me want to scream. I'll long for the size 4 body that I once inhabited. The one that could squeeze into skinny jeans and not have the muffin top peaking out. The one who bought a size small without second thought. I have begun to realize that these imperfections are beautiful. My body is only a small piece of who I am and not even the most significant one. I LOVE LOVE LOVE food and while I desire to be healthy, I am not going to beat myself up over every little piece of candy or hamburger that I choose to eat. There is this blog that I read about a woman who survived a plane crash and 80 percent of her body was burned. She said something really powerful that stuck with me, "I am not my body" As a society, we have associated "skinny" with beautiful. What is skinny? I've seen some 200 + pound women who are GOREGOUS. My husband would look at me with those same admiring eyes if I was 400 or 100 pounds. My kids wouldn't care if I grew an extra nose as long as I gave them goodnight kisses and hugs. So really...why the obsession?

[applespicy.livejournal.com]

So really... why the obsession?

That's the mystery to me. I know it doesn't matter to the degree that I make it out to, but I can't help being caught up in it. I see other women who rock their curves and I think, "Well, that's good for them but it wouldn't work for me."