Body Ugly

One of the few benefits of being disembodied is that I am blissfully free of most body issues. While I do acknowledge that my hair is thinning somewhat and my chin is a bit lopsided, I need not worry about weight, roundness of belly, or size of thighs.

Herself has been wrestling with her body image, and the longer she waits for the doctor's clearance to resume her regular exercise routines, the greater the struggle has become. She realizes that she is no longer anywhere near the blossom of youth, and that a few wrinkles, a smidgen of sag, a bit of extra baggage are to be expected. She well knows the platitudes, It Is What Is On The Inside That Counts and Beauty Is Only Skin Deep.

All the same, she is wistful for the times when the body machinery worked properly without effort, when calorie-counting and avoidance of migraine-inducing foods were unnecessary. Days when medical issues were rare and easily handled, when there were no surgical scars instead of the eleven, large and small, that now dot the landscape of her torso. Time when the marks of bearing three consecutive nine-pound babies had not yet arisen. Ages when she was not self-conscious about the height of her forehead, the jiggle of her arms, the heft of her breasts, the sponginess of her abdomen, the shape of her behind. She thinks of these things now, and curls inward on herself, wanting to hide away from those who might look at her and judge her. Appearance should not matter. And yet, sometimes, it does.

I would like to teach her that she is beautiful in her own way, and that her scars, both physical and otherwise, are to be embraced as part and parcel of her entire being. Once she is back on the mat at tae kwon do, she will slowly regain the sense of mastery over her physical self that she so desperately needs right now. She will, I hope, eventually learn to accept all her perceived flaws, and face the world bravely without care as to what others may think.