discrepancies

So I went to this Theology of the Body conference last month and since then, I've been musing over the perception of the body in this American culture and how I myself have hated and loved my own body.

This subject comes up often, especially during the summer when people are exposing their bodies all around me. It comes up when I'm at the pool in my swimsuit and hiding behind my sunglasses, staring at all the more perfect than me girls in their bikinis. I've never worn a bikini in my life, even when I did have the body for it.

A few days ago, I was watching my kids during swim lessons when a young woman life guard stood at the edge of the pool, talking to a young man life guard who was sitting in his guard chair. Both of them were in their early twenties. Both of them had perfect bodies. Both of them were unmarried and without kids. Both of them were completely not like me.

As tempting as it was to ogle the guy, it was the girl who got my attention. I stared at her from behind my sunglasses, tracing the contours of her tan body, noting the cute smile on her face. I don't remember ever having contours like that. Maybe I did once and just never was happy with myself even when I did. And I never felt that I had a cute smile on my face.

I'm a serious person, mostly. If people don't know me, they think I'm judging them. But that's just because I'm quiet and I don't say much unless I feel I have to. But back to the body.

I thought about this woman's body for quite awhile after I'd seen it. I thought about hers. I thought about mine. I thought about the discrepancy between the two. I thought about this all as I pulled into McDonald's and drove away, munching on french fries and gulping down a chocolate shake.

Now, I must say, I weigh less now than I've ever weighed in all my ten years of marriage. I fit back into my college size actually. I'm pretty happy with myself. But after four pregnancies, my body is just not what it was when I was 19 and it probably never will be again. Sure, I can do my Pilate's and I can run a couple miles here and there. But the shape I was then will never come back for me. I have to accept that. And I think of that line, "Can I handle the seasons of my life?"

It's a strange thing, all this comparison. I mean, who cares really? My husband thinks I'm beautiful. I have lines and freckles which increase in number every summer, yet he thinks I'm beautiful. I have stretch marks and non-taut skin, yet he thinks I'm beautiful. My chest has become deflated after a total of 92 months of nursing, yet he thinks I'm beautiful. He sees all these things as the effects of my love for him and his children. And he is right to see them that way. But why can't I accept that? Why do I look at myself and see only imperfection most of the time? And I think of the line, "We all want something beautiful. Man, I wish I was beautiful."

I went in for a massage the other day. A massage and a facial, actually. There's something about just relaxing and breathing slowly and closing your eyes while some perfect stranger rubs their hands all over your body. I mean, why is that okay? Why is that desirable? Is it because this person is non-threatening? Is it because she is a professional? Is it because I trust her to earn her money to help me relax and feel beautiful? I don't know. Obviously, the whole situation would be different if the person wasn't a woman or wasn't a professional or wasn't trusted. But she was all those things and I was able to relax and feel beautiful.

I remember the first time I got a massage, I got tears in my eyes. I was experiencing in a deeper way that I -- me, yes, actually me -- I was fearfully and wonderfully made. A stranger caressed every curve of my face with care and tenderness. This person wasn't expecting anything or trying to get anything from me or trying to make me feel any certain way. She simply wanted me to relax and feel beautiful. And I did. And it was amazing.

I don't get massages often -- once a year maybe -- but it is my time to feel okay about myself and my body once again.