I Surrender

My last blog post addressed the issue of sexual violence that had been done to me in the past.  Long resolved, though not forgotten, it was important to bring my personal experience to the discussion of violence and misogyny in the popular culture.

There was a moment, though, a quick phrase that appeared in that blog that afterwards made me pause.  It was a passing mention of “body image” issues and concerns about weight, something I felt in the moment would be familiar to most women, as well as to those men who are sufficiently aware of the concerns of the women in their lives.  I caught myself up short, though, when I realized that those issues were an indication that the violence that had been done to my body wasn’t just coming from the outside.  I had been doing it to myself for as long as I can remember.

A few simple examples: joining a gym for the six months before my wedding, so I would look “perfect” on my “special day.”  Agonizing over whether to dye my hair, cut it short, let it go grey, or grow it out, for no particular reason.  “Doing my colors,” so I could at least wear the “right” clothes, if I could never be a size 6.  Rewarding myself for losing weight, and loathing myself when I couldn’t.  And, all day, every day, comparing my body to the bodies of women around me, old and young, tall and short, heavy and thin.  I was better off than some and worse off than others, but always trying to measure up.

I know some of how this came to be the case, but honestly, I don’t think I’m all that different from many women in our culture.  Emphasis on appearance, and devaluation of women’s abilities and accomplishments is rampant.  Each woman will have her own story, but the themes are familiar.

What happened for me after writing that last post, however, was the miracle I want to share.   

In the middle of the night, on the night of Ash Wednesday, it became utterly apparent to me that the real war was the one I was inflicting on myself, and it was the only one I could stop.  Curled up in bed, I declared to God, “I surrender.  My body has been a battlefield for half a century – no more!”  I heard Bonnie Raitt’s voice singing, “I’m gonna lay down this fight.”   And I relaxed my muscles, and chose, in that moment, to practice being kind to myself, especially to my physical body.  

It doesn't happen overnight, of course.  I remind myself many times a day now, "Be Kind.  Be kind to your body."  I try to catch myself and stop comparing and criticizing.  I try to choose food, not because it will help me lose weight, but because it's healthy and delicious, and I'll enjoy it.  I try to choose clothes, not to make me look thin, but because they are attractive and comfortable.  It's not easy, actually.  These patterns have become deeply ingrained reflexes.  But little by little I shall try to fast from criticism during this season of Lent.  Starting with myself, and attempting to extend that kindness to others, I will endeavor to fast from casual criticism that turns itself too quickly into cruelty.

By the grace of God, a softer heart can be born.