Grieving my Fantasy Body
Harri Rose wrote about grieving the loss of your fantasy body recently, and it cut me like a knife. Stop reading this right now, follow her @harri_rose_ on instagram (I shared it on my @pointy.chin.diaries page as well), then come back to this. IT IS A MUST READ.
Welcome back! Tough stuff, isn't it? It forced me dig into what my true intentions are with this whole blog and "journey" thing, whatever that means. Am I being honest with myself? Do I really, truly event want to love the skin I'm in now if it means letting go of the "perfect" body I've dreamed up for myself? Am I ready to let go of that fantasy? That perfect, imaginary girl has been in my head for so long that at some point, she has become a security blanket. A painful, harmful, self-deprecating one, but a security nonetheless. The desperate hope that someday I really could look like this, and that's when everything in my life will finally fall into place is... let's call it soothing. This dream girl with the perfect skin and the six-pack abs frolicking naked in a field in her utter, flawless glory without a care in the world has been with me for the better part of twenty years, and I want to be her so badly. Am I ready to picture myself, as I am now, frolicking naked in a field without a care in the world? Is there a world in which she could exist, in which I could exist? Could I as I truly am ever replace her? I'm caught in between wanting to love and accept myself as I am today, and wanting the tight toned tummy of a Victoria's Secret model.
With this blog specifically, I'm also living in a weird gray area between constantly wanting my picture taken and hating every picture of myself. "These photos would all be perfect if I were 10 pounds thinner," is almost a mantra at this point. I had the very fun opportunity to work with Angel Torres (@mr.angeltowers on the insta-machine) earlier this month. I simultaneously could not wait to see the shots, and absolutely dreaded getting them back. It's almost as though I expect to see the perfect girl in the field in the photos, but I don't. I see a sad, bloated, self-conscious version instead. I get the real me.
But you know what? I don't hate this picture. I do wish that I were slimmer in it, that my waistline were narrower and my arms were thinner, but overall I do think it's accurate representation of what my body looks like, and it's not so bad. I think this girl could be happy in a field.
To be completely honest, I'm not ready to grieve my dream body, but I will be. Until then, "not so bad" will have to do.