I’m not really sure how or where to start this post. And I suppose the answer is to start at the very beginning. At least that’s what I hear Maria von Trapp singing in my ear. But the problem is that I’m not sure where the beginning is.
I mean, at what point, in the course of a girl’s life, does she begin to hate her body. How do you find the day?
As children we can’t stop ourselves from jumping into pictures, making crazy faces, and loving the resulting photos. We are oblivious to the nuances and peculiarities of our bodies, simply happy that they’ll pedal a bicycle, skip down the street, and hang one-handed from the monkey bars.
But all of a sudden, we cross some threshold. We become “aware.” And we begin to shy away from photos, hiding from the cameras, hoping to be put in the back row. We begin inspecting ourselves in the mirror, eyes trailing from head to toe like a dot-to-dot under a magnifying glass, suddenly certain that our hair is too stringy, too curly, too straight, that our nose is too freckled, ears too uneven, chin too pointy, skin too pale, buttocks too round, or perhaps too flat, boobs too big, boobs too small, stomach too flabby, thighs too fat, ankles too thick, toes too long, need I go on?, all the while carrying on an internal dialogue wherein we tell ourselves that we’re not pretty enough, not tall enough, not tan enough, not thin enough, not curvy enough … not. not. not. Enough.
But where is the day that begins? When does it happen?
I have blurry memories.
There was the day in seventh grade that Joel Vierra pointed out that Shannon Schlesman was great at English, and that he was good at math, and that I was good at lots of subjects. “You’re well-rounded,” he said. And then he chuckled, “Get it? Well-rounded.”
There was the day in fifth grade when I didn’t sign up for swim team—not because I didn’t want to. But because I couldn’t bear the thought of putting on the swim suit.
Or the afternoon I’d forgotten my sheer, filmy ballet skirt in my dance bag. And so I pulled on the cotton skirt I’d worn to school that day, fully aware that I needed something to cover my belly. No one had to tell me. I just knew. It wasn’t flat like the other girls’.
Ballet class began, but when my teacher noticed my attire, he stopped class to tell me to take the skirt off—that I would have to dance that day in just my leotard and tights. And I stood there at the bar, my eyes on the floor, everyone else’s on me, heart pounding, ears burning, and told him no. He stood there in silence for a minute and then told me again to take it off. And still, I quietly whispered, “no.”
I had never told an adult, let alone a teacher, “no” before. I’m nothing if not an obedient teacher’s pet. But I was certain, that day, that it was more humiliating to stand in front of everyone wearing only my leotard plastered to every curve of my body than to do disobey.
I was in second grade. Eight years old.
I quit ballet soon after—not because I wasn’t good, and not because I didn’t love it. But because I knew, and was certain everyone else knew, that my body was not a ballerina’s body.
But when did that happen? When did I finally know? And how? When began this seemingly endless battle with my body? How many years have I been looking in the mirror silently telling myself that the reflection looking back is wrong?
I love you, Krista. No one should feel this way. I hope that you learn to love your body soon – whether that’s change the things you don’t like, or love the skin you’re in. We’re all our own worst critic. For the record – as you know, I HATED my chest growing up (thus the reduction in 2001), my toes are freakishly long with my big toenail on my left foot being non-existant (thank you press ons!), and I HATE seeing myself talk on camera because I use my hands and my fingers look like long witch fingers as they comb the air. I love you – and hope to see you soon! :)
This make me sad.
I don’t know how to pinpoint the day but I really would like to know. It seems like as long as I can remember I’ve known every one of my flaws BUT on the bright side as I get older I really have started to adopt the “I don’t care what you think of me” attitude. I still know there are flaws but it just doesn’t seem to be as big of a deal.
Thanks for opening yourself up and letting out those feelings. I think talking about them and embracing them are part of healing. For the record, I have always been jealous of how beautiful & talented you are! I hope that you can see some of what I see in you.
Dawnie
I agree with Kassie’s comment this really makes me sad and makes me want to cry! I can’t tell you when it happened for me but I can tell you how. Kids and even friends are cruel and they make fun of the imperfections our bodies have and we believe them! From 4th grade on I was always self consious about something my feet, my small chest that my friends called “mosquito bites” Once puberty hit I gained weight and felt chubby and insecure about my braces, big thighs,etc. Looking back at pictures I think I didn’t look that bad why didn’t I appreciate it more? I had a hard time after I had twins with my body covered in stretch marks with extra flabby stretched out skin and a c-section scar but Ty doesn’t care so that’s helped me to not care so much and also keeping in mind in 15-20 yrs. I’ll wish for the body I have now that can do so much more than it will be able to when I’m older. I think it’s a constant battle you have to fight but how does Heavenly Father see you? Beautiful inside and out and that’s who counts! Love you Krista!
Krista, this is what we all have said to ourselves at one time or another. I think the term “stop it” also applies here as well as Forget me not…to love yourself. Easy to say, harder to embrace. I am a Krista lurker…love your writing, your humor, your frank comments…and constant self accessment. However, wish you could only see yourself thru our eyes, and especially if you could see yourself thru your Father’s eyes. Your insight from such an early age regarding your body image will undoubtedly help those preteen and teen girls you seek to influence. But before you can get them to love themselves you must first learn to love you…we do.
I love your writing. I adore you. I completely agree with Karolyn. I wish you could see how gorgeous, talented, charming, intelligent and delightful you are. I have some friends who are tiny and in great shape who still want to lose 5-8 more lbs. That was a huge wake up call to me. Just like you said, everyone thinks they’re not enough. So I’d better be happy with and take care of what I’ve got.
krista i love very much you are a beautiful woman very talented and an amazing person ! give yourself a huge hug you are awesome love mama b
Sweet Sweet Krista! The hurt you write about makes me sad. It reminded me of the things that were said to me. Like Lachelle I look back now and realize I didn’t need to change anything. I was beautiful and amazing, but because of those I was around I could not see it. Because I didn’t fit into the mold of others idea of perfection I was not good enough. Krista this is just one more reason I love you. You are beautiful! You always have been from the first day we met. The beauty you have is unmatched by so many others. I hope you know that! Love you tons!