Repeat After Me: There is No Perfect Woman

“I have an iron will, and all of my will has always been to conquer some horrible feeling of inadequacy… I push past one spell of it and discover myself as a special human being, and then I get to another stage and think I’m mediocre and uninteresting… again and again. My drive in life is from this horrible fear of being mediocre. And that’s always pushing me, pushing me. Because even though I’ve become Somebody, I still have to prove I’m Somebody. My struggle has never ended and it probably never will.”  (Madonna, in a 1991 Vanity Fair interview)

I’ve been told that this is predominantly a girl-problem.

Body Envy/Worship Envy

In every arena of life, I relentlessly compare myself to others.  Not men, other women.  There are the obvious ones, like comparing my muscular build to their hour glass figure, or my hipster/writer costume to their sophisticated duds.  The mall is hell for these sorts of things.

But that isn’t all.

I get angry because so-and-so in my church cell group is better at worshiping than me.  They have their eyes shut and their hands raised, while I just got distracted by the sound of my own pure soprano.  And they’re crying and getting all lovey-dovey with the Father and I’m thinking, “Jesus, I really hate this song.  Can you zap this song and make it disappear?”

And then I look at them and think “You’re faking it.  I just know it!”

So women push themselves toward the crippling burden of perfectionism.  Perfect body, perfect hair, jeans that fit perfectly, perfect hostess, perfect Mom.  Not only do I need to run three times a week to fight back the potato chips, but I need to go out in stylish gear so I look hot while doing it.

Yeah, I’m pretty sure that ain’t happening.

That is why most people who suffer from eating disorders are women.  Women are more likely to self-harm and commit suicide.

I am Remotely Controlled

But this attempt to control our lives and make them perfect is actually to give ourselves over to be controlled.  We may desire peace and contentment, but the popular opinion of beauty and fashion will not let us.  ‘The Jones’ won’t let us be happy until we keep up to them.  Heck, as I’ve talked about in Still Fat on the Inside, we won’t even be able to enjoy innocent pleasures like food.

We will miss opportunities that could be life-changing, all because we were afraid of looking stupid.  I can think of fun activities that I didn’t participate in because I was afraid of failing.  I’ve never been to the gym, because I’m afraid of looking stupid (that will have to change soon–ugh).  I won’t ask for help, i.e. in finances, because I don’t want to admit areas of weakness.

So while I am trying to control how others think of me, they are actually controlling me.

And why?  Tell me: would we like a perfect person?

The Flawed Hero is the Best Hero

As we stood outside my building after a run, my friend Rosie and I were talking about a book series she’d been reading.  The one book had this character who was a good Christian girl, willing to do whatever God asked.  It was like she could do no wrong.  The second book starred a young gladiator who hated God.  Who did we agree was more fun to read about?

I’d say this was part of our comparison and perfectionism, but I suspect there is something else to it.  Our subconscious minds can spot a fake.  The author can sell us that godly goody-two-shoes as reality but in the back of our minds we know that this is just wishful thinking.  There are some really awesome people out there who love God and want to follow him.  But we know ourselves, and we know how hard we have to fight just to do one or two good things every day.  We know that we treat God like we treated our parents.  We do what he asks, while stomping around and kicking the dog to prove that we’re only doing it because we have to.  And only for the briefest moments do we experience the harmony with Him, and that intimate friendship that we so desire.

If we love the loser characters, can’t we accept ourselves too?  Can’t we look into our own hearts and see the weaknesses, and realize that no one is without flaws?

You can’t see what goes on inside another woman’s mind.  You can only see the external accoutrements of her life.  You haven’t seen the price she paid for what she has.  I worry sometimes that people look at me and think I have my whole life figured out.  Like today, I mentioned the awesome run I had to an friend.  She asked, “how long did you run?”  I immediately felt the need to downplay and said, “Well, 10 kilometres–but I don’t run 10K every day!”  I used to think that ‘real runners’ practically floated above the ground, and ran without pain and gasping for air.  Now I know this is a fantasy every time I pull off my jacket and the stench of sweat emanates from my shirt.  I know the perpetual tired legs, and the burning chest, and the foolish feeling one gets when prancing around in skin-tight pants.

So allow others their weaknesses, and own up to your own.  It can be immensely freeing to admit that you’re weak.  I’ve found great relief in telling my friends my struggles, only to have them smile and say, “I feel the same way.”

Repeat after me: there is no perfect woman.  And we aren’t so different after all.

 

 

 

 

 

Connections Between Food and Love

Is there really a connection between food and love?

I’m reading The Amazing Connection Between Food and Love, by Gary Smalley—not the kind of book you expect to be sucked into, but I was. My relationship with food has been love/hate since my teens and, though in the last four months I’ve had some major victories, I’m still seeing the emotional and physical affects of my dietary choices.

Smalley describes this cycle: Food affects our emotional health>Emotional health affects our relationships>Relationships affect physical health>Emotional/physical health affect our food choices—which affects our emotional health, and on it goes.

I considered myself a ‘food addict.’ I thought about food all day, I overate regularly, and if there was a table of sweets or snacks to be had, I’d eat like it was a contest. I couldn’t stop myself.

My Mom always fed us square, nutritious meals and we were a long ways from a convenience store, so as a kid I rarely had access to chips or candy. But when I moved out and into town, a bag of Doritos was only a five-minute walk away. And when I’d spent all day at work salivating over the thought, what could stop me from getting them?

I told myself I wasn’t massive, and my muscular frame seemed to hide that I was well over two-hundred pounds, but I knew I was overweight and I was ashamed of it. When I bought chips, I’d eat them when my sister wasn’t home and then hide them when she was around. I’d try to stuff the pizza box deep into the recycling.

‘Something’s wrong with me,’ I’d say. ‘I’m such a loser. I’ve got no self-control.’

Though working on my feet and travelling by bicycle kept me from gaining weight too fast, the constant cycle of dreaming of food, giving in and eating, and then guilt-tripping, was taking its toll. I wanted to feel like a winner.

Looking back, I believe I was an emotional eater—food was a reward, comfort, or entertainment. This set up a cycle of eating to feel better, being guilty and making myself sad, and then eating again to feel better. Plus, those foods I ate were the very sort that make the body want more: highly processed carbs, sugar and chemicals.

Did this take a toll on my relationships?

Certainly extra weight, acne (which went away when I cleaned up my diet), and failed attempts to lose weight, eroded my self-confidence. Teens have enough confusion as it is, but I was under the delusion that because I was chubby and had acne, I wasn’t good enough to be friends with the ‘pretty’ girls, and certainly not ‘girlfriend material’ for the guys. How many relationships did I miss out on because of my poor self-esteem?  Oh, if I could give my current confidence to my thirteen-year-old self.

I’m a moody person, and cleaning up my diet has only alleviated this slightly. In my mid-teens I went through a period of extreme mood swings. I’d be happy one moment, and then so irritable that no one could stand beside me because their breathing got on my nerves. My hormones were out of balance, causing issues with my menstrual cycle and causing me to sprout hair on my chin like a boy that age would.

The doctor told me I needed to lose weight and I scoffed but I did it. After a month of eating 7-8 servings of fruit and veggies a day and limiting other foods, my cycle normalized. Supplements took care of my mood-swings. I slimmed down just in time to fit into my grad dress.

What kind of pain did I cause my family because of my mood swings? Was my diet at fault?

I think it’s common knowledge that when we’re hungry, we’re tired and grumpy.  Still, it wasn’t until a few months ago that I began to truly associate food and mood.  Some of you may remember me posting about how depressed I was, coupled with a photo of me making a breakfast sandwich at 1:00 am.

My funk probably wasn’t caused by food, but I wasn’t helping it any either.

I’m still a definite foodie. I ‘have’ to enjoy my food, or I see no point in it. So, though I eat sugar free, low carb, high-protein and lots of whole foods, I still think about food several times a day. If chips are put in front of me, I still can’t say no, but if I think about buying snacks I usually say “I’ll have some on the weekend,” and when the time comes, I often don’t buy them. I still feel the need to hide junk food, but I try to make myself own up to it, and tell my Mom or sister that I had pizza on Friday night. I want to enjoy the occasional treat without shame. I guess it will take some time to work out of the old, harmful, emotional habits.

After four months of this lifestyle (read about Trim Healthy Mama here and here), I’ve seen victories beget victories. I began by controlling what I ate. After I started losing weight, I decided to try working out, and realized that I enjoyed it (the benefits at least). Now I have dreams of running a 5k race. My body confidence is higher, and my pant-size is lower but most of all, I know I can do what I say I will do. I’ve built trust with myself. No doubt, that will improve my relationships.

I plan to explore this topic further as I continue reading the book.  What do you think?  What connections between food, love and relationships have you seen in your life?

Scoreboard, I Hate You

A few days ago I downloaded this app called “My Fitness Pal”. Anyone else tried that one? You enter everything you eat and drink during the day, and it tallies up your calorie intake, as well as the nutritional info.  And then it tells you “If you eat like this, you will weight X kg by X date.”

Oh. Dear.

Every day so far, I have exceeded my recommended calorie intake—and it’s not even an unreasonable goal because of my active lifestyle. But I like chips.

What changed? Did my diet change for the worse because I started tracking it? No, I just got a reasonable picture of what I am eating.

A few days before that, I tallied up my expenses and receipts for the month of November to see if I made budget. I didn’t. Not even close—saved only because I worked overtime and made more than I’d projected, and even then I went backwards last month. Ugh. I’ve been tracking my budget for the last four months, and I have never made budget perfectly. But this much I know, I’ve been a lot closer when I’ve been tracking it.

Of course, that doesn’t make it any less depressing.

I also track what books I read, how many audios I listen to, the stats to my blog, Twitter and Facebook. Most months I make my goals, but the progress seems really slow.

Claude Hamilton, in his book Toughen Up: Basic Training for Leadership and Success, says, “We track what we respect. If you don’t respect your money, you won’t track it. If you do respect your time, you’ll track it… those who don’t respect their time and money enough to track them are always too busy and broke.” Ouch. I suspect that the same thing applies to my diet: I didn’t respect my body, so I didn’t track my diet, ergo I’m overweight.

I don’t know if tracking my food-intake will help me lose weight, but not tracking it would have kept me on the same path of weight gain I was on, just as not tracking my finances would have kept me broke. As it is, I am able to live off 80 percent of my income, and slowly am gaining financial traction. Because I set goals and revisit them regularly, I read more, learn more, and do more because I respect my time.

As you see, I go from failure to failure. When you’re losing, the scoreboard is depressing. That’s why some kiddy sports team have eliminated it—as if that could boost the self-esteem of said kiddies by sticking their heads in their sand.  “Oh, they’ll feel bad if they see that they suck.”  Yup.  They will.  Maybe it does boost their self-esteem for the moment, but it will ultimately hurt them by giving them unrealistic expectations: their boss will keep score on their productivity. Their bank will keep score on their accounts. Keeping a scoreboard keeps you honest about your failures, and when you have the courage to confront your weakness and do something about it, there are few things that build your self-esteem more.

For further reading, check out the chapter on keeping score in Resolved: 13 Resolutions for LIFE by Orrin Woodward, or the chapter on putting first things first in The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen Covey.

Or this article on keeping score at Orrin Woodward’s Blog here

A Fat Girl’s Guide to Fashion Freedom

Because learning to dress myself was only the beginning.

They were white, with purple and pink roses. No wonder I still remember them. I doubt those hand-me-down sweatpants were ever stylish, but I rocked them. When I was six I wore what I liked. Purple and pink were my favourite colours, so I wore them together, along with every barrette in my arsenal. I even had this splendid set of pearl earrings (clip-ons), which I would wear to church and embarrass my mother. Those were the carefree days, where I didn’t even stop to consider what people thought of my clothes. Would that I could go back.

Or not.

Bellbottoms, or flares, were coming into fashion as I was entering my teen years. Pants, with flared-out legs so wide that you could park my little car under them, were paired with platform shoes—the clunkier the better. And I had neither.

When my birthday rolled around, I took my birthday money and bought a pair of black flares with white stripes down the side. They were haute. I wouldn’t be caught dead in them today, but I was twelve, and anxious to fit in. I asked my most stylish friend if they suited me, and she assured me they did. Great, I had one pair of fashionable pants.

I was a chunky, acne-riddled teenager. While my friends were wearing low-slung jeans and baby tees that showed off their flat midriffs, I was wearing a hoodie and modest jeans. Stores for kids that age don’t sell size XXL, and even if they had, my allowance didn’t permit much clothes shopping. I wouldn’t have known what clothes to put together anyway. That had to be learned.

I thought I wasn’t popular because I was fat, that I didn’t get attention from boys because I wasn’t beautiful like the other girls.

I did what I could. I bought makeup and experimented with covering my acne scars until I got it right. I tried different clothes, though I refused to shop in the plus sizes because that, somehow, made me ‘fat’.  But somewhere in my late teens I started to pull my wardrobe together. I had this great jacket that made me feel like a million bucks, and some pretty tops that dressed up my jeans. I remember (and laugh) about the first scarf I bought, when they were a new thing. I was afraid that my family would think it was too ‘out there’.

I suspect growing up and gaining confidence did more for my body image than new clothes ever did. I got a job in a meat-packing facility, which is a direct route to looking like crap every day. But I was forced to associate with guys (gasp), stand up for myself, and assert myself among a group of adults that didn’t give a damn about me, or my feelings. It thickened my skin. Knowing that I could hold my own in the real world helped me hold my head high, even when I couldn’t afford to dress like a show-window mannequin.

Shortly thereafter, I began college. My wardrobe consisted of 90% MCC thrift-store items—like a ruffled ‘pirate coat’, a spangled tunic, and a never-ending supply of cardigans. I had classmates who rocked their eclectic thrift-store duds, and from them I learned that clothes were art—meant to be original and expressions of your inner self—not one size fits all. My clothes might not have fit into the prepster, hipster or sophisticate categories, but I was accepted anyway. I was accepted for being me.

I’m still learning that.

These days I work as a ‘fashion associate’ part-time, which comes with discounts that make trendy clothes affordable. I’d say I’ve found out what I would wear if I could wear anything I liked. Right now it’s purple, fish-scale pants, a wine-colored blazer, a sequined black tee, and boots that have caught my fancy (notice the reappearance of purple?). And, I’ve at last found peace in shopping in the plus-sizes. Face it, they fit me better, and they look great.

It will eventually get through to me that my clothes have never won, nor lost me any friends. Rather, it is the content of my character that attracts others. The coworkers who see me in a cerulean uniform and safety glasses like me just as well as the ones who see me in purple pants and sequins.

I can’t go back to being five years old and carefree, but maybe I’ll grow up a little more and care a little less about what people think of me.

To Thine Own Self be True: Backhanded Cure No. 2

I used to think I was an honest person.

I had a reality check when I found two points of dishonesty that were a regular part of my life. One: I’d lie to cover up things that embarrassed me, and two: I’d lie to myself. I’ve realized (with help) that if I can’t be honest to myself, I’m not a trustworthy person. And if I can’t trust myself, that is a serious blow to the self-esteem.

Leadership guru Orrin Woodward said that if you set your alarm to get up at six, but snooze twice and get up at 6:18, that is a lack of integrity. You said you’d get up at six and you didn’t. Sure, no one else cares, but you know, and this will erode your self-confidence. I guess if I can’t discipline myself to get up when I say I will, I don’t have much discipline. Ouch.

If you say “this evening I’m going to get this project done” but watch TV instead, you’ve broken a promise to yourself. If you say you won’t spend money on eating out, but you do, you’ve broken a promise to yourself. After a while, when you say you’re going to do something, doesn’t your inner voice say “yeah right”?

Mine would.

Think about someone you know who always tells you their plans, but never carries them out. Don’t you just nod and smile and think yeah, whatever?

But doing what you say you’re going to do builds confidence. My small victory in this area has been delaying gratification in buying clothes. I don’t deny myself the pleasure of buying new clothes. Instead, I set a goal, which, if I accomplish it, ‘unlocks’ a portion of spending money. Over the last months I’ve raised the goal, and I have do to a lot of work to unlock just $30 of money toward my wardrobe. But when I buy the clothes, there’s no need to feel guilty. I’ve earned them.

It definitely wasn’t always like that. My finances are one area where I’ve been very dishonest with myself.

Some would rather be free to do what they like, and say what they like. But I suspect true freedom is the opposite. To be able to trust one’s self, and control one’s self is to be free. No human can reach complete mastery, of course, but that shouldn’t stop us from doing our best and leaving the rest to God’s grace. To thine own self be trustworthy.

The Backhanded Cure for Low Self-Esteem

This is what happens to me when I walk through a mall: I observe another woman’s effortless elegance, hour-glass figure, or the handsome dude she’s with, and feel like a pitiful excuse for a human being. I might have felt like a million bucks when I left home, but once I saw what she was wearing… jig’s up.

And so I take the next left into the clothing store, or the makeup counter, and spend money I shouldn’t–or I medicate with a Pumpkin Spice Latte (no need for a spoonful of sugar to make that medicine go down). This insidious form of low self-esteem, called comparison, lurks at every corner of the mall.

I say to myself: “There must be something wrong with me. If I was beautiful like she was, I’d have a man.” Or, “It’s bad genes that keep me fat.” Or I just medicate with a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

That would be a lack of pride, right? I don’t feel proud of myself, so I lack self-esteem.

Edward T. Welch has a different take:

“Low self-esteem usually means that I think too highly of myself. I’m too self-involved, I feel I deserve better than what I have. The reason I feel bad about myself is because I aspire to something more. I want just a few minutes of greatness. I am a peasant who wants to be king When you are in the grips of low self-esteem, it’s painful, and it certainly doesn’t feel like pride. But I believe that this is the dark, quieter side of pride—thwarted pride” (1).

That’s a head-scratcher. Let me get this straight: low self-esteem equals thinking too highly of myself?

Right.

But it actually makes sense. Welch said “I feel I deserve better than what I have”—as if the hand I was dealt by the Creator is beneath me. I’m too good to be single. I’m too good for acne. I’m too good to be fat. I should have been given a better hand!

I’ve always believed that if someone was truly great at cards, they could win with whatever they were dealt. The glory was in winning against the odds, not with a stacked hand. We root for underdogs—just watch any sports movie Hollywood puts out.

Reason number one to stop bemoaning my life: if it’s bad, all the more impressive when I win. I must make the best of it.

And the biggest reason: God gave me this life and its set of circumstances. How prideful of me to say he was wrong!

“Yeah, you’re Creator and omniscient, but you should have given me a better face.” Tear, sob, sip of PSL.

Stop it, you big baby! (Talking to myself, here—or the person beside you). Put on your big-girl panties and get to work.

I’m not preaching fatalism, here. I’m saying play the hand you’re dealt, and play it well. It wasn’t given to you at random, but for a particular mission. If you don’t believe there is a creator, that doesn’t exempt you. What makes you so good that chance should have dealt you a better hand? Make good on it.

Get your focus in the right place—not on yourself, not on the other person’s stuff, but on the face of Jesus Christ. “And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of his glory and grace.”

Let’s work on this together, shall we?

Reference:

(1). Edward T. Welch, as quoted in Confidence of a Champion by Tim Marks.