I blog frequently about body image. In one of my posts, Love. Your. Body. Now., I juxtapose nudes I took in my 20's with nudes I took in my 40's. I seem to have finally accepted the way my body is now. It's true that taking nudes at 46 gave me a new sense of appreciation for the body I'm in today and genuinely convinced me to never get back down to the 125 lbs. I weighed back then. That isn't a healthy weight for a woman my age.
Maintaining what I have, I've realized, isn't as effortless as I initially thought it would be. No, the body continues to age. Just when you get comfortable in one spot, your body willfully changes again. That metabolism you thought couldn't get any slower suddenly craps itself like Julie Moss at the finish line of the Kona Ironman.
It's frustrating, embarrassing, irksome and just plain shitty. But we've got to keep running through it.
My constant self-appraisal is like a lot of addictions: I have to take it one day at a time. My goal for today is to only look in mirrors when absolutely necessary.
Like when you're having a séance and you need to know if your dead Aunt Maureen is standing behind you wielding a battle ax.
Or when you have an unexpected lunch date with George Clooney and need to do a perimenopausal whisker sweep.
Or when you don't want to look directly into your mother-in-law's eyes and need to use the mirror as a buffer.
Or when you think you may have sat on bird guano before refereeing a pack of socially merciless Girls-Under-12 AYSO soccer players.
Or when you need to see if your boobs are even.
Other than that, I am not looking into a mirror.
I've also decided that I'm not going to judge any photographs of me. Even the ones where my arm flesh looks like marbled beef. Or where my over-zealous chin seems to bleed out of frame all the way into Bangladesh. (My chin could bridge the gap at Camp David). I am going to look at all photographs of me and KNOW in my very bowels that regardless of what I see, in two years, I will think I looked marvelous.
It happens all the time. I'm flipping through a 2-year-old photo album and see a photo I hated of myself and think, "Hey, that's not bad."
Except for maybe this picture:
13 is a cruel mistress.
Or this one...
Sofia Vergara couldn't look good in those shorts!
So for the remainder of today, and maybe one day at a time for the rest of my life, I'll look in less mirrors and reserve judging photos of myself for two years. I'll judge yours, of course -- I have to have something to live for. But mostly, I'm just going to keep running through whatever shit happens.
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