I had a conversation recently with a close friend....about my body. I made an admission, one I had never made before, about my husband's opinion about a part of my body....or lack there of I should say. I had never discussed this before but wanted to that day. Truthfully it didn't matter so much what my husband thought of this particular part of my figure. On that day it only mattered what I thought.
To his credit my husband is proud of me and of the care I have taken with myself over the years. He loves when one of his friends compliments him on his wife, tells him he is lucky to have a young looking wife. It gives him a boost, makes him feel good in some way. Of course it matters not what he thinks...It matters what I think.
I like what I look like, I like to see my reflection in a mirror. I am comfortable with myself. I walk around my room unclothed and never feel like reaching for a bathrobe should someone walk in the room. I can't say this was true back in my twenties and early thirties. In fact I would rarely walk around unclothed, naked. I didn't love my body back then when it really was deserving of a "WOW', worthy of a double take. I love it now however, I do indeed.
I love my body now because I have gotten to know it over the years. I have come to accept certain flaws and characteristics that I once wanted to excise. I know how it works, I know how it responds and I know what it is capable of. I learned that having a weakness does not mean my body will fail me. In fact I learned that despite a weakness my body fought, fought for it's existence. Fought hard and won. It is dependable, vital and strong.
I have worked to be sure my daughter was comfortable with her body, comfortable in her own skin the way I am, happy with her physical form. We talk about body image, about flaws, about being comfortable with who you are physically. I am pleased with her attitude, her acceptance.
To his credit my husband is proud of me and of the care I have taken with myself over the years. He loves when one of his friends compliments him on his wife, tells him he is lucky to have a young looking wife. It gives him a boost, makes him feel good in some way. Of course it matters not what he thinks...It matters what I think.
I like what I look like, I like to see my reflection in a mirror. I am comfortable with myself. I walk around my room unclothed and never feel like reaching for a bathrobe should someone walk in the room. I can't say this was true back in my twenties and early thirties. In fact I would rarely walk around unclothed, naked. I didn't love my body back then when it really was deserving of a "WOW', worthy of a double take. I love it now however, I do indeed.
I love my body now because I have gotten to know it over the years. I have come to accept certain flaws and characteristics that I once wanted to excise. I know how it works, I know how it responds and I know what it is capable of. I learned that having a weakness does not mean my body will fail me. In fact I learned that despite a weakness my body fought, fought for it's existence. Fought hard and won. It is dependable, vital and strong.
I have worked to be sure my daughter was comfortable with her body, comfortable in her own skin the way I am, happy with her physical form. We talk about body image, about flaws, about being comfortable with who you are physically. I am pleased with her attitude, her acceptance.
So many women can barely look at themselves. They hate what they look like, their form and shape. They shrink from view almost, wishing to be unnoticed, unseen. What a hard road it is to travel...when we don't much care for the vessel we were given to travel it in.
A hard road indeed.
2 comments:
What a hard road it is to travel...when we don't much care for the vessel we were given to travel it in.
This is true. When traveling by train I always think it would be more romantic to travel by steam, maybe in a Pullman. Truth is, the scenery outside the window counts much more than the loco or the carriage (unless the seats are really bad).
I'm packing a bit too much weight right now, but my reason for not being happy with that is that I am slowing down, and consequently slowed down. I want to be fitter so I can move more easily. I'm not at a point where anyone else needs to be interested in my WOW factor, I just need to be able to do what I want.
So I have a good regard for my body, and know I need to show it more respect.
Maybe it's easier from the male perspective. Maybe I've just never found it that important.
I love my body even with the giant scar across it. I should a picture of my abs to someone and his response was "Ouch, that must have hurt". I thought I guess he doesn't see the beauty in the picture.
My body puts up with all the punishment I put it through on a daily basis, from over working it, to starving it because I forgot to eat, to not giving it enough water. Somedays it lets me know what I have done to it and others it just puts up with it.
I love to walk around naked and I always hope that someone stops and notices the work I have put into it. My body is a constant work of art and I love it.
Sometimes I do obsess over it but I think that is because of what I do. I think if I worked in ana office I would less inclined to stress so much over those little bulges at my hips that no one sees but me. DH laughs at me because I am so particular.
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