An Introduction - The Voice

This blog is born out of my own desire to remind myself of what is real, to keep my life and image in perspective.  I am 38, relatively smart, relatively attractive, have a successful career in IT, wife at 32, mother at 37, organized, thoughtful, strong, confident, and capable (let's talk about my anxieties, sensitivities, insecurities and lesser qualities later please and thank you).  

But.

I have one three digit characteristic that looms over everything, seeming to cast a shadow on all of my other positive characteristics.  Three digits when standing next to each other represent my weight - and I'm currently the largest and heaviest I've ever been.  Too bad I can't just tell those numbers they're in the wrong damn order and have that fix everything. 

That miserable shadow comes in the form of an internal feminine Simon Cowell-ish voice: harsh, judgmental, unforgiving.  The voice took up residence in my head during my sophomore year in high school (when I started gaining weight) and has loafed on an inner couch for 23 years; watching my life from the sidelines, not doing any real work but freely tossing in hypercritical, condemning, demoralizing commentary. 

There isn't constant chatter and I can sometimes forget about her, but she is always a heavy presence in the back of my mind. She gets quieter if I lose weight, and sometimes I can trick her into shutting up if I feel particularly cute that day.  But then she seems to lie in wait for the next opportunity to make sure I feel terrible about myself.

To give you an idea of what it's like, last week I got out of the shower and stepped into the hall to see my husband and baby playing in the hallway.  My husband said, "Look, there's Mommy!", and she started crawling to me with a smile on her adorable face.  I burst into tears.  My baby has hardly seen me naked since I stopped breastfeeding her at 3 months, and I usually have to sneak in my showers during nap time or evenings.  But in this case, all she sees is her pretty mommy with a towel on her head, and all I can think (thanks to the voice) is how embarrassed I am for her to see me so big and still looking pregnant almost a year after she has been born. 

Sometimes I can put it into perspective - if I use my logic, that scenario doesn't make any sense to get so upset about.  My daughter doesn't even know what she's seeing, and truly I am so very grateful for this body and that it was able to bring me my sweet, happy baby girl.  I would do it again in a heartbeat even though I will always gain and keep weight (thank you genetics).  But logic isn't what always pops up in those moments, I have to pull it up by its bootstraps in attempts to do battle with the voice.  That battle between loving and loathing is constant...and it's exhausting. 

The voice even weighs in about things that are only loosely related.  If I had my druthers I would never wear makeup, but God forbid I leave the house without it on - even though it is far more comfortable without it and my husband prefers me that way.  You can't be overweight AND plain! says the voice.  Plus eyeliner really makes my eyes pop.  Wait...  

One of the worst parts about this voice is it sometimes makes me as judgmental of others as I am with myself.  The ungenerous commentary extends itself and I sometimes judge people based on their weight, because that is how I judge myself; even though I so desperately want for people to not judge me by my weight.  

The irony is deep.  And sad. 

Why do I believe this voice?  Why can't I get her to shut up?  Where did she even come from and what gives her such power over me?  Why don't the other voices that tell me I'm beautiful and fabulous outweigh and outlast her? 

I may know answers to some of those questions, certainly not all of them.  Though I recently came across a Cherokee parable that might ultimately be the simplest explanation:

There.  While this speaks to many areas of life, it certainly is true about my voice.  My voice was fed by my embarrassment of the looks I'd get in high school, by the fact I didn't have a real boyfriend until I was 30.  She was fed by all the movies, TV, photoshopped magazines, and other images I have devoured over the years that tell me in no uncertain terms that you can't be beautiful and happy unless you are a size 2-4 with decent size boobs.  Fed by the compliments I get (and give myself) when I am thinner.  This voice has been fed so much that she has gotten bigger and bigger, and even though she clearly has a high metabolism and can eat whatever she wants, takes up a ridiculous amount of my mental space.

I am tired of it.

I want to kick her off that couch and out of my mind, or at the very least be able to mute her at will and take away her power.  How would it be to look at a photograph of me and my family or friends and instead of immediately criticizing the double chin or tummy roll, think instead  So cute!  Look how happy we look!

Do I want to still get in shape so I can be healthy and run after my daughter without getting winded?  Yes.  Do I also want to be able to accept how I am today without such a battle?  YES.  Do I want to avoid passing my image issues onto my daughter?  PLEASE GOD YES.

I do have a voice that is happy and confident, appreciates who I am, is proud of what I've accomplished, and other than ensuring I am healthy isn't too worried about how much I weigh - she just isn't nearly as loud or as constant.  I want to reverse this - to drown out the judgmental voice and all the voices that feed her and replace them all with generosity and acceptance.  I want to feed this voice the most, focusing less on what I look like and more on being real, strong, and smart.  

But it's hard.  Really, really hard.  

Which is why I want to create a place that helps me remember what is real.  A place that not only reminds me that society has a skewed view of what beauty is, but a place that shows that real, strong, smart women are truly the most beautiful women in the whole world.

The battle isn't mine alone, and certainly isn't new.  My particular judgy voice is mostly about weight, but almost everyone I know has their own voice telling them they're too skinny, not beautiful, stupid, not talented, etc. etc., - all fed by the unfair, untrue and unkind voices of our society and culture.  

It's time they all just shut the hell up. 

In the language of flowers, Alyssum means Worth Beyond Beauty.
Photo credit: grimes-hort.com