Acceptance

In 2019 I decided to accept my body. Many factors and influences led me to that decision. The two most important things happened back to back.

I reached the lowest point in my self-esteem, followed quickly by being given the most positive feedback that I have ever received.

In my lowness I didn’t realize how desperate I was for those positive words. I wanted to be pulled up. I couldn’t prop myself up anymore. I needed help. Now, I’m not even sure if those words were genuine but that doesn’t matter. They felt genuine. They helped me in that moment; in the moment that I needed it most.

It saved me.

It was the lift I needed to begin to accept myself. I wanted to accept my body. I wanted to care about myself. It led to me going to the doctor for the first time in 6 years. I found out I had iron deficiency anemia and needed a hysterectomy. The anemia did not make me physically tired. It drained my ability to cope. As my iron built back up I felt mentally stronger. I began to receive the compliments in different way. They made me feel a confidence in the uniqueness of my body. I used painting to explore and understand my body and how I interact within it. The results are my nude self portraits.

I have never been happy with my physical appearance. The closest I came was when I was 20 years old.

In 1993, I had lost 20 lbs by working 60 hours a week and not eating enough food. I was exhausted but I liked the weight loss. I could buy size 6 clothes, the smallest I have ever purchased -although my breasts required either stretchy or larger tops. For a moment, at 120 lbs, I thought I could be happy with my body.

Then I went to a family gathering. I received a lot of compliments about my recent weight loss. I responded with satisfaction about my weight and joked that I didn’t want to look like Dolly Parton. In response to my joke, I was bombarded with urging to keep losing weight and encouraged to make Dolly’s look my goal. In that moment I (wrongly) learned I should never accept my appearance. I should always be looking for ways to be more attractive, even if they were unattainable. I learned because I was average looking, not an extreme natural beauty, I should constantly be concerned with improving my appearance.

It did not motivate me. It deflated me.

Over the next few years I not only gradually quit trying to improve my appearance, I gained weight and covered myself in baggy clothes. I focused my energy into others. I quit investing in my appearance because I did not think I could ever reach the goal of being the socially accepted definition of physical attractiveness. The less I tried, fewer people pressured me to reach for the goal they had for my appearance. There were exceptions.

In 1997, at 24, less than five months after I gave birth to my first child, my grandfather slapped me on the ass and told me I was getting fat. I don't think he intended to hurt me but I knew the message was that he liked me better before I gained weight. He wasn’t concerned with my mental health or even my physical health. He didn’t inquire about what was going on in my life or about the state of my self-esteem. His judgement was purely based in my appearance. The most respected figure in my family was telling me my body was unacceptable. That I was unacceptable.

This is one of the few photos that exist of me at 20 years old. I did not think I was ugly but I also did not think I was attractive. I tended to lean forward, shoulders drawn in, trying not to bring attention, especially jokes, to my large breasts.

I wish I could tell 20 and 24 year old me not to listen to the people telling them what they should look like. I wish I could get them to accept their bodies. I wish I could tell them to stop letting others hold them back.

It is easy to look back and wish for better choices. The real challenge is looking forward and making choices that shape the life I want to build.

My body looks a lot different at 47 than it did at 20 and 24. Instead of wishing for either of those bodies I want to appreciate what I have. It can be difficult. There are a lot of daily reminders that others expect me to want that unattainable younger, thinner body that wasn’t good enough for them when I was 20 or 24. If I somehow made my body go back in time the pressure would then switch back to a Dollylike body.

Judgmental outside opinions can never be satisfied. They are not rooted in my desires or what is healthy for me. It doesn’t help me to listen to them. Because I do not respond well to the pressure to be thin the healthiest goal for me is acceptance.

I have nothing against Dolly Parton’s appearance. I don’t have an issue with people choosing to sculpt their bodies to what they want. I take issue with other people using her tiny body with large breast as their expectation for my goal. They see my large breasts coupled with my 5’2” height and envision her look as my ideal form -losing all sight of me as an individual. When I was encouraged to continue my weight loss toward Dolly’s 1993 look, it would have required losing weight in my hips. Today, larger hip measurements are much more socially acceptable. When I purchased pants at 20, they were snug at my hips and thighs and lose around my waist. It made me feel deformed. As I walked I tried to control my hip swing as to not draw attention to my (family unapproved and clothing store proven) grotesquely out of proportion ass and thighs. Considering I was barely eating and very active, the expectation for my hip measurement to be considerably smaller than my bust line was impossible. I was set up to fail. More importantly I wasn't acceptable.

It hurt me.

I crave progress. I'm driven to look for better ways of achieving my goals. My desire to make progress can be crippling if my goals are not healthy. They need to be realistic but motivating. They need to come from inside me. They need to be meaningful for me. They need to be rooted in my desires. They need to take into account my limitations. I am the only person who can set my goals.

To those who thrive swimming in a pool of unattainable goals, I look lazy as I drown. They see my decision to accept my body as complacency. I am not complacent. I am not uncritically satisfied with my body. I see my body for what it is and accept its current state. My body has value as it is. It is unique. The experiences it has lived through are my story. They make me who I am. My body will change. It will get older. It may get larger. It may get smaller. It may get stronger. It may get weaker. No matter what changes it goes through I want to wake up every day and accept its current state. I don’t want to waste my time sulking because my body is what it is. I have other ways I would rather spend my time. I’d rather spend my time painting, getting to know people, painting, seeing uniqueness in the world, painting, understanding myself and painting... mostly painting.

Accepting my body doesn’t mean I'm lazy or I don’t have goals. Those are ridiculous assumption that too many people make. The goals I have are attainable and rooted in my desires. It is important for me to be okay if I do not reach my goals. I am more likely to reach a goal if I downplay its importance. I understand what works for me doesn't work for everyone. I wish others would accept what works for them may not work for others. We are not the same. The world would be really boring if we were. I don’t understand why we have pressured everyone to be the same for so long. I am happy the world is moving toward an appreciation for differences. I am thankful to the people who break from body norms. They inspire me. They make the world better and more interesting. They create a world where I can be accepted and be inspired to accept myself.