Tag: self-image

A sensitive topic: race and hair

Gabrielle Douglas
Photo by Los Angeles Times

My husband and I were struck particularly this week by some of the talk that swirled around the Web after the amazing Gabby Douglas won all-around gold in gymnastics. We were both dismayed to read how many of her fellow blacks commented not on her performance or her history-making status as the first black woman to win gold in the individual all-around at the Olympics, but on … her HAIR.

Yes. Her hair. Now, I have read a couple of fairly reasoned comments by blacks explaining why the intense focus on her hair and disparaging comments about it, saying that since she is “representing black people” as a whole, who have experienced a clearly bad history of injustice and who now feel they have to essentially overcompensate to be seen just as equal, that even appearance is an important facet of that sense of proving themselves. There is no question that that is sad.

It’s bad enough that women today are being pressured more than ever to look perfect according to current societal norms. These norms are admittedly different (within each community, at least, though not in our society overall) for whites and blacks. And blacks make no secret about how their hair is always a challenge. Comedian Chris Rock put together a very interesting and entertaining documentary about the topic, in fact, called “Good Hair.” It was just a glimpse for those of us who do not have that texture of hair into what it’s like to try to come to terms with it.

I’m only weighing in on this topic because it’s a personal one to me. We have three biological daughters, but we also adopted our youngest daughter, who is black. And from the second we got her (the day after she was born) and took her out in public, we started getting advice from blacks on how to take proper care of her hair. Five years later, we are no less inundated with opinions.

They haven’t been unwelcome. It’s clearly true that I have no experience styling black hair. I have dark blond, smooth, straight hair. Easy-peasy. I wash it and comb it and that’s pretty much it. I’ve got it good even for a white person. So it’s helpful to have people who have experience give me ideas. What’s been interesting, however, is just how varied and sometimes clearly opposite those tidbits of advice have been. My husband had co-workers telling him from the start to use Vaseline in our daughter’s hair. Others said absolutely categorically that Vaseline was NOT what we should use. When it came to products, then, I ended up fairly early buying and using the products made by Carol’s Daughter. I like them, they smell wonderful, and they seem to keep our daughter’s hair mostly smooth and manageable if we use them every single day. So, end of story. The product side is done.

What’s the other even bigger issue is that of STYLING. I’ve been mostly interested in just letting her have a natural style, keeping it oiled nicely and combed, but nice and curly and as-is. I’ve even been bolstered in this opinion by seeing all of the emails and information that Carol’s Daughter is sending out to customers about “transitioning” to more natural hair. I absolutely refuse to straighten her hair with strong chemicals. If she chooses to do that when she’s “of age,” she can, but I am not going to put lye on her tender scalp.

So straightening chemically is out. But what about styles? When I’ve gotten ambitious, and had some time on my hands, I’ve put her fairly short hair in little “poof-balls,” as I call them. They look super-cute. But I have never learned how to do cornrows or other similar styles. This week, however, I decided to try just braiding her hair. We sat down and spent half an hour getting this done. I put about 15 little braids in her hair, and I think it looks cute and, I think, SHOULD be approved by blacks.

Then again, I worry. With five years experience getting blacks’ advice (sought and un-sought, from friends and strangers), I know it can be contradictory, and that it is taken VERY seriously. This is why I am not surprised at how Gabby Douglas’s hair was discussed in what most whites would consider rather mean terms. Blacks are serious about their hair, and it’s a complex issue for them. Many women, thanks again to the not-helpful culture in which we all live, feel self-conscious about their textured, very curly hair. They want to have smooth, straight hair that isn’t so “ethnic.” As with all the other topics I’ve written about so far in the broader issue of beauty and contemporary culture, I find this sad and disappointing. Why in the world can’t we have a whole variety of “ideals”? And why does there have to even be an “ideal” shape or look anyway? Can’t everyone just be who they are, whatever shape, size, color or hair they have?

I suppose now I’m just being idealistic. It’s probably crazy to hope for something so drastic. But it doesn’t hurt to discuss it and remind ourselves that just being our own best selves is desirable. It’s a tough fight because we’re battling against SO MUCH societal pressure and messages, but we can still try to fight it.

I suppose also that I could have spent more time over the past five years going to special salons to get blacks to style my daughter’s hair. But, as with many issues I’m aware will crop up over the course of her life with me being white and her being black, I hope we can strike the right balance between pretending (ridiculously) there are no differences between us and making a big deal out of them (I just want to always acknowledge that, yes, she is adopted, but I am her mommy always and forever, and that, yes, she is black and I am white, and, yes, her hair is different than mine, and then just go about the business of being just who we are). I am just taking this interracial-adoption situation a day at a time, and just being her mom. (And, really, adoption and interracial adoption are just whole other big blog-able topics, aren’t they?) I’m doing the best I can to be a mother, period, and to be a mother to both biological children and an adopted child.

For now, I hope to be true to each of my children, for who they uniquely are. My youngest is black and adopted. My second-oldest has Down syndrome. The older three are half-Caucasian, half-Filipina. And each has her own amazing talents and gifts and personality traits. And each will have her own hair and appearance issues. But I hope that no matter what, each can feel good about herself and not succumb to society’s negative values, especially about image.

Yes, I might be treading on a minefield here. I’m well aware of that. I hope to be respectful but also share my own experience. My daughter’s only five. So I’m sure we have many years ahead in which we will just continue to take one day at a time in dealing with hair or anything else that becomes pertinent.

Envying the sinners and oppressors

I was reading some scriptural passages over the weekend that really stood out to me relating to beauty and self-image. They all spoke about envy and how dangerous it is. In my church’s canon is a wonderful chapter that allows us to ask ourselves questions about how prepared we are to meet God. One poses this question: Are you “stripped of envy”? (Alma 5:29)

So I began searching for other scriptural references to envy, as it relates to individuals. At one point, a prophet told his people, “And I know that ye do walk in the pride of your hearts; and there are none save a few only who do not lift themselves up in the pride of their hearts, unto the wearing of very fine apparel, unto envying, and strifes, and malice, and persecutions, and all manner of iniquities.” (Mormon 8:36)

In Galatians 5:26, we are admonished: “Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.” And in 1 Peter 2:1, that prophet tells us: “Wherefore laying aside all malice, and all guile, and hypocrisies, and envies, and all evil speakings.”

What struck me particularly were these references in Proverbs about who in particular we don’t want to envy: sinners and oppressors. Proverbs 3:31 exhorts: “Envy thou not the oppressor, and choose none of his ways.” Proverbs 23:17 similarly says:  “Let not thine heart envy sinners: but be thou in the fear of the Lord all the day long.”

Today, we might not be oppressed by government or worldly leadership; we’re not in bondage to other people. But we can easily be oppressed by the images and messages that are constantly bombarding us. If we allow them, those who are behind these messages can oppress us in mind and in spirit. Advertisers do all they can to make us feel bad about ourselves, mainly how we look. Cosmetics companies want us to feel bad about our skin’s youthfulness, shine and clearness; clothing manufacturers want us to feel bad about how our clothes fit, how stylish they are, what fine materials they aren’t made out of. Everyone out there wants us to feel fat and ugly in some way so we will buy their products to make ourselves look better somehow, in some way. And it’s SO easy to accept and internalize those messages and to just feel bad about ourselves. And that leads us to envy. We’re envying those who oppress us. When you think about it, isn’t that crazy? Shouldn’t we be rejecting those messages and just laughing at the absurdity of it all?

At the same time, we’re also envying those in society who are sinners. So many celebrities are held up as the icons of beauty and style. But they’re also making headlines as people who are driving drunk, committing adultery, and just plain being immodest and immoral in lots of ways. I don’t think I need to give a whole lot of details to support this statement. Just pick up a magazine or glance at celebrity news on Yahoo. The next time you wish your waistline could look like that of one of the ridiculously talentless but still ubiquitous Kardashian sisters (which is easy to do while standing in a supermarket checkout line), take a second to think about them as people and what they stand for.

Peter goes on in chapter 2 to tell us who we really are: “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light. … Dearly beloved, I beseech you …, abstain from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul.”

No, we shouldn’t be like everyone else; we shouldn’t be envying our oppressors and the sinners in our society. Those of us who are faithful believers in God are a “peculiar” people, which means we’re set apart from others. We’re God’s special people, and He loves us. He doesn’t want us to envy and try to emulate those in our society who only want to hurt us and make us feel bad about ourselves. Envy starts with comparing ourselves with others, and then finding ourselves wanting, in both ways. I think the first step in stopping this cycle is not comparing. As soon as you find yourself seeing a picture (inevitably it’s some kind of image), just stop and think about where your thought processes are going. And don’t go there. Don’t compare. Don’t envy. You’ll find yourself much happier.

Motherhood: from pack animal to beauty queen and everything in between

As I hit 42 yesterday and pretty much suffered the “epicenter” of a nervous breakdown that’s been brewing for a few weeks, I had a few epiphanies. One was this: I can totally understand why a woman my age would want cosmetic surgery.

Why? At this age, I’ve given birth to four kids and don’t expect to give birth any more. What’s done is done, baby-wise. Now I’m into a different stage of mothering, one I didn’t expect to make me as crazy as the stage of early childhood (and I really thought that was tough): having kids of varying ages, able to fend for themselves in survival-type ways, but dependent on me in completely different ways, ones that are actually somehow more important to who they are and who they will be. They need guidance, not just food and clean bottoms. My girls range from ages 16 down to 5, and each has specific needs related to her age and unique personalities and interests. None are heavily involved in lots of activities, but just having a few activities all together, along with the usual things to support them in, adds up to a lot of work on my shoulders, a lot of expectations and four precious, amazing young people relying on me to help them grow and develop as good human beings.

Yep, that’s me. Anyone need to add on another bag?

So lately, what with it being “birthday month” at the Lim household, and near the end of the school year, and all the things that go along with those events, I have felt like I am merely a donkey, laden with a huge pile of heavy packs, trudging along, trying to knock off a pack or two at a time. Even as I do so, more packs keep getting laid on my back. I’m about to collapse under the strain, my hairy donkey legs splayed out to all sides at cartoonish angles, my belly and chin flat on the ground.

Every mother has these kinds of obligations, especially at this stage of parenting, and they never fully lift. But every mother is also a woman who just wants to feel pretty and special and … womanly. Sure, I’m not 21 anymore, and I don’t turn guys’ heads, and that’s OK. But I’d like to feel occasionally that I can still turn one man’s head, that I am an object of desire and fascination to him, not just the pack burro who takes care of his home and four kids. It’s really easy for life to get so unbalanced with scheduled events and obligations that each parent becomes an automaton, fulfilling those obligations but losing themselves and their “hearts” in the process.

In interviewing doctors and others, I have learned that most women who have cosmetic surgery are either at the beginning of their reproductive lives or the end. The surgical improvements are done either before childbearing and, often, before attracting a mate or after giving birth to a whole brood and closing up shop in the womb. I’ve talked mostly to women who are in the latter category. They’re mostly parents to children of varying ages and are often stay-at-home moms. I suspect that they’re feeling overwhelmed, out of balance and pretty donkey-like, much as I am feeling right now. I can imagine the siren call of surgery would be very tempting right at this point, when a mother can easily feel very undesirable physically — not necessarily even because she really does look significantly older or plumper or scarred because of giving birth, but because she just doesn’t have time to feel attractive and be a woman, rather than a mom.

Every mother needs to explore and regularly experience that side of herself that is simply a woman, with her own unique beauty and personality. If she doesn’t have time to feel feminine and admired somehow, it’s going to throw her off her game everywhere else. Unfortunately, I don’t have a whole lot of answers as to how to solve this very common problem of unbalance (if I did, I’d probably be a millionaire). I just know that somehow it’s vital to find that balance, to find some time to be pretty, to be oneself, to feel one’s husband turn and look appreciatively, even if that admiring gaze must skim right over a toddler with a smelly diaper and a high school student who needs help with homework or finding a modest prom dress. I know that husband and wife both need to find the time to be themselves, to be just a man and woman who still find each other interesting and attractive. I doubt that plastic surgery can permanently solve these issues, but it certainly would sound tempting as a temporary measure.

Me, I’m just trying to figure out how to stand back up, shoulder my load and trudge on, and balance my life a bit better so I can at least sometimes put down all my packs and revert to my womanly form for at least a little while. Fairy godmother: can you wave your wand for me, please?

Beauty and the backlash

A few months ago, I started interviewing women who elected to have cosmetic surgery. Today KSL.com published my compilation of (a little of) what I learned from them.

I knew it would certainly get people’s attention — as well as opinions and comments. As I’ve read the comments left on the article, I’ve wanted to respond to many of them. Since I can’t really do that there, I’ll take a couple of points here.

My first response is that this article is only a little piece of the story. The previous articles I’ve researched and published are also pieces that contribute to a whole picture, which is still only slowly forming, about what might be a trend of elective surgeries happening in Utah. So as people say, “Well, what about the influence of media?”, for instance, or “What about how men see and treat women (including the huge problem of pornography)?” I say, those are  good points. I’d like to get to those  in future articles or a book or just on this blog.

My second reaction to many commenters is that this issue is more complex than it may seem at first glance. Many either say, “Why worry about what people’s personal choices are? Let them do whatever they want” or “Those women are so vain! They should accept who they are.” It’s easy to just pick one of those two opinions. But in speaking to these individuals, I found myself empathizing and just enjoying our conversations. In addressing the second widely held opinion, for example, I would say, You know, I liked these gals. We’d probably hang out or be in a book club together. We could be sitting in a gym locker room or a mothers lounge or any number of places, commiserating about how giving birth has drastically altered our bodies, how we’re dissatisfied with our soft, squishy bellies or our stretch marks. I get it. I am not happy with how I look, and honestly, I’m having a slightly difficult time coming to terms with what aging is doing to my body.

I didn’t find these women to be shallow, vain, or self-centered in the 30 or 45 minutes I spent talking to each of them. One of them specifically told me how she’s tried very carefully not to wear revealing or tight clothing or act any differently since she had her mommy makeover. She doesn’t want to change how she acts or looks or puts herself across to others. She doesn’t want to become immodest, or, heaven forbid, immoral. She just wants to feel more comfortable in her own skin (now less saggy than it was).

Having spoken with them and empathized, I don’t want them to be seen as some kind of poster children for vain women who care only about their appearance. They’re not all that different from the rest of us who have complained about how we look. The big difference, however, between them and those of us who have merely complained is that they have gone far enough to invest a sizable amount of money in a change and to take the risk of subjecting themselves to surgery, which always carries the possibility of harm. Granted, in the hands of a certified plastic surgeon and with many procedures now “routine,” the risk of death or other serious harm is fairly low, but it is definitely a risk and something one must seriously take into account. This seems particularly of concern when the patient in question is a mother of children still at home, and if she does die on the table, she’d leave them without a mother. These women did consider those issues and still chose their course.

What I’d like to come of all this is a conversation. Our culture in America today encourages women to think of themselves as objects, to look first at how much we weigh, if we jiggle in good or bad ways, if we are sexually attractive, if we still look young and as fresh as we did before giving birth. Our society worships youth, there is no doubt about that. What started as a trend in Hollywood and among the rich and famous has now become commonplace among the masses: to fix any body issues with surgery and other procedures. We are awash in images of perfection, so much so that it’s impossible not to compare ourselves with those images, unreal as they may be.

Let’s look at the factors that contribute to this trend, such as pervasive media influence, our expectations of ourselves, our comparisons with each other, and the way men are socialized to respond to women, to name a few. Let’s admit that though we may not choose to do what some of these women chose to do, that we may have thought how nice it would be to magically look better.

This doesn’t have to be a trend that continues to go the same direction. We can halt the ever-increasing percentages of people who are having cosmetic procedures done. We can change how society looks at women in particular and glorifies a perfect image, male or female, which now means thin bodies and full breasts for women and lean, muscled lines for men. Maybe we can get back to the days when full-bodied women were glorified. Even better, maybe, just maybe, we can progress far enough where there is no ONE ideal, where all kinds of looks are appreciated. Now that sounds perfect.

Perfect to a T

A visitor the other day asked me, “So, are you a perfectionist?” Ha! I had to chuckle. It’s like asking me if I like chocolate. Or ice cream. Or books.

Uh, yeah. I’m a perfectionist. I’d like to call myself a “recovering perfectionist,” but that would be implying I’d actually improved a bit and stopped some of my perfectionistic ways. Nah, I’m firmly off the wagon.

This moniker is accurate despite the fact that my friend came into my house while I was in the middle of vacuuming my dining room. The chairs were arranged haphazardly along the edge of the living room carpet, and I was wearing a ratty old T-shirt and sweats. My hair was up in a clip and I was, as is typical for a weekday, without any makeup. Luckily, and unusually for a weekday inside my home, I was wearing a bra, and this is only because there were men in my house installing some new windows. My four-year-old was running around doing whatever while I vacuumed, which was the precursor to mopping (which only happens about once a month around here, though I’d like it to be once a week). With the men stomping around upstairs and creating some background noise, plus occupying my driveway with their big truck, my home was the site of some serious action, and I was a little sweaty and rattled. My main goal was to get the house clean and put the preschooler in her room for some quiet time so I could sit down and rediscover my equilibrium.

Mostly, I wouldn’t point to these markers as signs of perfectionism. Perfectionists’ homes are just naturally clean, with outsiders never seeing the behind-the-scenes action (like the best of magic tricks, everything looks amazing with some sleight of hand); female perfectionists always are stylishly dressed with neat coifs and impeccable makeup; their children do not run wild. But I know the truth: cleaning my home is a must because I am a perfectionist. I like clean floors and surfaces. I like them to stay clean. Since people (children and husband included) live here, they do NOT stay clean. I am perpetually frustrated.

I can’t explain away the lack of makeup, the hair always in a clip on the top of my head, or the fact that I ALWAYS wear sweats and old T-shirts at home (or, if I leave the house,  blue jeans and T-shirts without holes). Perhaps that’s the one category in which I just let myself slide because even I have realized I can’t do it all. (Unfortunately, I have yet to realize I can’t even do half of it all, but I keep on trying.)

And people do see me sweat because I go to the gym every day. And I certainly do not wear makeup or have my hair fixed there (although in that case it’s in a ponytail rather than a clip).

But I can’t point to these habits and say, “See? I’m NOT a perfectionist.”

A whole list of qualities and habits shouts loudly that I most certainly AM (this is only a sampling, mind you):

  • I can’t stand having unfinished projects lying around. When I sew, for example, which is maybe once a year, I just get it all done in two days. I may sew four dresses at once, but I will sit at the sewing machine almost nonstop until they are done and I can put away all my materials and the machine back into their appropriate “homes,” out of sight.
  • Look at what I do for a living: copy editing. Can one be more perfectionist than that? The goal is to have an article or manuscript with NO ERRORS. No misspellings, no grammatical blunders, no style mistakes, no factual goofs, no libel. It kills me to look back on a story I’ve edited that still contains an error that I MISSED. That fault on my part will haunt me for days.
  • I’ve already written about my body issues and will continue to do so. Let’s just observe that my glaring imperfections (hello? 40, possibly 50, excess pounds?) do not slip by my eagle eyes. But in the interest of full honesty, I will say that I’m generally content with my hair and my face. I think I have a pretty face with some very fine features (always got compliments on my eyes and smile) and good hair that rarely gives me problems, unless it’s in dire need of washing.

The thing is, I’ve always been like this. My mom says I was born this way. I believe her. My family dynamics and circumstances tended to reinforce that tendency, but it was always there. My first two children didn’t inherit the trait, but my third has. I sympathize with her. She’s always going to excel in school and activities, but she’ll feel tormented when she doesn’t do as well as she’d hoped (it already happens, even with pictures she draws).

No, I’ll never be labeled “laid-back” or “easygoing.” But people like for me to be in charge. I get things done — and well. But it comes with a price. I’m not the friend you want to take to the beach. I won’t sit there quietly and companionably for five days running, the sand tickling my toes and the sun kissing my skin, thinking only about wispy clouds and bright blue skies. I can only sit and do nothing for about two hours. After that, I’ll be grabbing your hand and leading you on a tour somewhere, or hooking up to the Internet to write or edit or search for useful information. No, I’m not a relaxed gal most of the time. Mostly, I’ve come to be OK with that. And I’ll insist on that until stress makes my cortisol hit freakish levels and I have a heart attack. But when I’m gone, you’ll look back on my body of work and say, Look how much she got done. Wow, those articles are completely error-free. She was amazing.

Divinely beautiful

I’d like to address beauty today from the standpoint of faith. I grew up in a religion that taught me that I am a daughter of God, of infinite worth, that he created me as a spirit daughter and then sent me here to this earth life, mortality, for a time to gain a body and learn faith while not in his presence. I hope to return to him someday. I am now teaching those same truths to my own four daughters, on loan to me from my Heavenly Father.

I have been struck many times by how much we as females are worth, how amazing we are, how much we can do, how strong we are. If we are truly created by God, and he loves us as children, we must be pretty wonderful and worthwhile.

But here’s the kicker: I also believe there is an adversary out there, a fallen spirit son who chose to rebel, and now this evil one is out and about trying to make us all miserable, just like he is. And he is pretty smart and very determined to bring us all down. He’s quite successful at what he does, too, sadly enough.

He knows just how amazing women are. He knows our potential, and he knows what we can do right now. He knows our power, strength, and beauty. So he is working really hard to fool us into believing that we are ugly, weak, unloved, and unimportant, that we don’t deserve all the best that God can give us. And many of us are happy to let his pernicious lies enter our ears and our thoughts and affect how we feel and how we act and live.

I think one of his tools in our society today is sending a constant message that we are not good enough unless we look good. We must have perfect bodies, perfect faces, perfect hair. We must wear the latest fashions covering (or barely covering) our perfect, thin bodies that sport flat abs and finely toned muscles and perky, full bosoms. If we have flabby arms or flat chests or a little bit of fat anywhere on our bodies, we are not good enough, not worthy of love. He whispers to us that we’re not even worthy of our own love.

In our society today, we are constantly steeped in images. Images of women who are impossibly thin, who have no flaws on their figures or skin. Images of women who wear scanty clothes that reveal every square inch of perfection. Those images shout at us from billboards, from magazine covers at the grocery store, from ads that pop up online, from movies and TV shows, from commercials. Even if we don’t watch TV or movies, we can’t avoid the onslaught.

And most of us are allowing the messages from those images to permeate our very beings, down to the very center of who we are. We are allowing those evil, twisted messages from a miserable being to convince us that we aren’t beautiful, that beauty is simply about being a size 2 and having perfect features. We are forgetting who we truly are, what our royal lineage is, and where we are bound.

In my interviews with women who have elected to have cosmetic surgeries, I have been moved by their feelings of insecurity before their surgeries. I don’t condemn them or want them to feel bad because of the message I hope to convey through this blog. I understand. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling, EVERY SINGLE TIME, that my body is ugly and fat, that it’s unacceptable. I used to be thin, and now I feel I’ve failed. I’m weak, I’m a disappointment. I do understand.

But I want to fight back. My purpose in writing this is to try to remind my fellow daughters of God who we are, and what our real worth is. It’s not about how we look. It’s about who we ARE, who we have always been, and who we are meant to be. We’re far from perfect, in looks or behavior or anything, right now. But we’re works in progress, and that’s OK. It’s more than OK. It’s exciting. We have so much ahead of us, and we’re on the path toward greatness.

We can spend a few hours a week at church, being reminded of who we truly are; we can spend half an hour a day praying and reading scripture. Those things are helpful, indeed, and crucial. But when during the rest of our days and weeks we are bombarded with messages telling us we’re not good enough, that we’re ugly and fat, and that our worth is tied up in our looks, then we must fight back. We must remind each other how important we are, how loved we are. We must take a stand against all those negative messages that are completely opposite of what the truth is: that we are truly of divine, infinite worth. We are daughters of God. Let’s do all we can to go out and spread these true, positive messages, to find ways to wallpaper our lives with them, to cover over those untrue messages.

Stand tall! Remember who you really are, and take the time every day to remind the women and girls in your life who they are, and just how precious and beautiful they are. We can make a difference.

The complex intersection of health, fitness and self-image

I never felt particularly pretty or slim when I was growing up. I always felt like I was a little chubby. When I was about 11 or 12 I actually went on a diet, and at this point I don’t feel I can accurately recall whose idea it was: mine or my mother’s. I cut out sweets, mainly, and ate a little less. My younger sister was taller and slimmer than I and just somehow charismatic and attractive, and I always felt kind of dumpy next to her. When we went on family vacations on occasion, such as the one we made to Florida (Disney World and Daytona Beach) when I was 17, my 15-year-old sister is the one who snagged the attention and admiring looks of the guys. I was just there and along for the ride. It wasn’t until a little later that I came to feel that I was attractive.

My father also had a bad habit of commenting on people’s looks. I adored my dad, and his death in October 2009 was devastating to me, but he did have his quirks and plenty of imperfections, and this obsession with judging others’ outward appearance was one of those. I finally told him the year before he died that it was time he stopped making comments about how people looked. It surely contributed to my constant worry about my own appearance. One of Dad’s infamously terrible remarks happened when I was somewhere around 12 or 13 years old, and we were all listening to music in our living room. My mother was dancing around the room, and my dad observed that she looked like “one of the dancing hippos from ‘Fantasia.'” Silence. I knew it was a bad idea to compare my mom to a hippo, even if it was a very cute animated one, and my mom to this day will sometimes remark about how much it hurt her.

My dad had gotten overweight when he was in his mid-20s and decided to do something about it, so he went on a diet and started running. After that, he stayed super-trim and always exercised and ate healthy foods, even obsessively so. I am sure that his own experience feeling overweight contributed to how he saw things, or the other way around, or both, but it certainly affected my self-image.

We always ate fairly healthy foods when I was growing up, with my mom making homemade wheat bread and putting wheat in every baked good she made. We ate vegetables and fruits in reasonable quantities, and rarely had soda or ate out. So we took care of ourselves pretty well. I never was an athlete, but I did start running my freshman year at college because I was “forced” to in a required fitness class I took my first semester. I dedicated myself to doing it and then just never stopped. Over the past 23 years, I’ve always gone to the gym to work out or gone running or walking, and I’ve only had a hiatus of a year or so total over that time, I think. I just enjoy the feeling of having a good workout, and for a long time, it helped me stay reasonably trim.

At college, too, I didn’t have a car, and my campus was large, so I did a LOT of walking. I could eat all I wanted at my cafeteria and have ice cream galore (I am a fool for ice cream), and with all that exercise, I probably lost a few pounds when I went off to college, rather than gained any. I actually felt pretty good about how I looked, and I felt confident in my attractiveness to all the members of the opposite sex I had the opportunity to meet at that large school.

When I married, graduated college, and got a desk job, however, I quickly put on 20 to 30 pounds. I wasn’t pleased with that and I started eating lower-fat foods and lost a little of it. But I still had most of that extra weight when I got pregnant the first time. After putting on almost 40 pounds with that pregnancy, I left the hospital just under 200 pounds and was shocked at how I looked in the mirror. That was all I needed to limit my calorie intake (I started counting calories for the first time in my life, and I kept it to 1800 since I was nursing), and I managed to take off all the pregnancy pounds plus some. After my second pregnancy, during which I still put on almost 40 pounds, I took off all of that weight and got down to a good size again. I did it again after my third pregnancy, gaining the same amount but getting it all back off 6 months after. I was 32 at that point, and I looked the best I had since I was in college 10-plus years earlier. I was pleased with how I looked, with my good eating habits, with my commitment to exercise, and being able to do all that after three babies.

About five years later, however, I had some pretty stressful experiences and put on about 10 or 15 pounds because I was eating too many sweets. I have always eaten chocolate and ice cream to my heart’s content, so either I started getting a little too old to burn off those calories, or I just ate too much, more than before. I wasn’t pleased with that extra weight and thought I looked chubby in photos. But try as I might, I couldn’t get those 10 or 15 pounds off; all I was able to do was take off maybe 4 pounds and that was all. Two years later, we went through a cross-country move, couldn’t sell our first house (and had lots of financial worries), tried to settle into a new and more stressful life and get to know entirely new people (and miss the old friends where we’d lived for 10 years), lived three months in a house with family (14 of us lived there in one house for that whole time) while we tried to find and buy a new house, and life really put the screws on. I ate and ate and ate. I packed on the pounds and suddenly was 40 pounds heavier. I hadn’t been that weight except right after that first pregnancy, and this time I’d done it without being pregnant, a really embarrassing feat.

As life settled in and eventually got a bit better, and I somehow got motivated, I was able a year later to focus on “dieting,” which for me meant eating fewer calories and cutting out  sweets, a painful thing for me, and I lost 35 pounds over the course of months. I never got to where I wanted to be, but I felt much better about where I was. I tried to lose more but couldn’t, and as life became (and/or stayed) more stressful, I managed to put a few pounds back on.

About a year ago, my doctor told me my cholesterol had inched up. I told her I’d try to lose more weight and see how that affected the numbers; I really don’t want to be on medication that would need monitoring of my liver and have side effects, etc. So I worked really hard for more than a month and still didn’t manage to lose as much as I had anticipated. I was hungry all the time and super-cranky because of it and only lost something like 7 pounds. I didn’t feel I could keep going that way and lose any more, let alone maintain that kind of hungry feeling for very long. So I gave up. Then life got very stressful again in the fall (the long and the short of things is that I simply got far too heavily involved in far too many things), and I put that weight back on and more. I’m back to 10 pounds short of where I started 2 1/2 years ago.

So what is the point of all these details?

First, appearance. I’d like to be able to look in the mirror and not have my first thought be a mixture of shame, disgust, embarrassment, and self-hatred because I weigh more than I would like.

Second, health. Yes, I would like to be healthier, no question. I generally eat healthy food, but then I also eat ice cream and chocolate. I’d like to be able to eat less of the bad things, just to benefit my health and heart.

Third, fitness. I’d like to at least give myself a pat on the back that I have always worked out. I still go to the gym every day of the week except Sunday, with only occasional weeks where I miss another day or two for reasons of illness or vacations (even then, when I travel, I usually find a way to exercise). So this is my one high-five to myself that I am dedicated to fitness. I like how it feels. I like that time to myself that I have at the gym. It’s wonderful. I highly recommend it.

Fourth, mental health. This is the crucial key to my weight issues. I already mentioned how my father was obsessed with appearance. He would make remarks frequently about aging movie stars or singers (he loved Linda Ronstadt but was so disappointed she “let herself go” and got “fat” as she got older; he was sad that Julie Christie had aged when she had been so gorgeous when she was young; the list goes on and on); he would comment about complete strangers who just walked by; he would comment about friends or family members. Naturally, I couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of my heavier weight, though he never said anything to me. It was pretty likely he commented about it to someone else when I wasn’t around.

My mental health issues include my turning to food as a coping mechanism. It’s my drug, I think. My father’s family had a history of alcoholism. The men in my dad’s family drank themselves to death. Dad managed to escape that because he chose in his 20s to join our church, which discourages drinking any alcohol. So he stuck to that and never had another drink in his life, though his own father had given him a taste for beer when he was a toddler and he still missed it. I believe that there is such a thing as addictive personalities; either it is actually hard-wired in our genes or chemical makeup, or it’s a family pattern of behaving. My sister started using drugs and alcohol at a young age and was very likely self-medicating her own mental health issues. Since I also have grown up with the same faith as my father, I have never had a drink of alcohol or a puff of a cigarette, avoiding any possibility of becoming an addict. But I am quite sure I’m addicted to food. I am reasonable with my eating habits when I’m not stressed, but when the screws are on, I turn to the kitchen. Last fall, things were so hard that I literally felt I couldn’t stop eating. I wasn’t hungry; I didn’t even necessarily taste the food anymore; I just couldn’t STOP. And it scared me.

So my goals are twofold: I’d like to look in the mirror and love myself, not immediately see my physical flaws. I’d like to accept who I am, see ME, rather than a body that’s aging and not model-slim, or even slim like I was in my early 30s (I still have those size-6 super-cute dresses I wore a mere six years ago; they’re in a box). I want to love myself, whoever I am.

But I would also like to break my addiction. I would. I’d like to stop my bad habits. But the idea of stopping them scares me. It scares me to even think about not using chocolate or cookies or ice cream as a soothing mechanism. My life can often become so not-my-own (I have four daughters and plenty of other responsibilities) that the food I eat is my only easy fix. I am not proud of this, but at the same time, I am aware that this is not at all uncommon. Those who don’t have this problem think it’s easy to just substitute other soothing mechanisms for the food and those of us who do have this weakness would just be A-OK. It’s just not that simple. I have pretty good “willpower” when I’m not feeling super-stressed or tired, but when I am, I just cannot resist the food. It’s just too easy. I don’t take the easy way out in almost anything in my life. I have come to believe now, after all I’ve experienced and weathered, that I am strong, brave and resilient. I say the honest thing to people even when it’s the harder thing to do; I work hard to achieve my goals, which may sound a little extravagant. But I try. So the food weakness is one spot in which I just too often feel I don’t have the strength or will to resist, when everything else is so hard and I am not taking the easy way out.

I could probably write ad nauseam about this topic. And I will write more. But I’ll just say that weight loss and health can be very complex issues for many people, and there are no quick and easy answers. Again, those who don’t struggle with these things will THINK there are easy solutions, but there are not. I think with everything I address in this blog, this is the case. That is precisely why I’m writing in this blog. Because life can be very difficult, and every person has his or her own set of weaknesses and strengths. If one thing is a strength for one person, it’s a weakness for another, and the two will likely not understand each other’s views on that topic. I’d just like to be able to explore the complexities of life and communication and relationships here, and those who have thoughtful insights they’d like to contribute to the discussion are most welcome to do so. Sensitivity is most welcome, and thinking twice before writing a cliche or simple answer would also be a fine idea. What say all of you?

My initial reflections on beauty and self-image

I’ve recently become passionate about the concepts of self-image and beauty. I was drawn into this topic by writing a few articles about cosmetic surgery among the population of Utah, and as I’ve interviewed women who have had elective surgeries to improve the look of their bodies, I have become dismayed at how much we as women (it happens with men, as well, but I’m going to focus on women here) internalize our society’s preoccupation with image and youth and beauty.

What started my interest was during a visit during the summer to Salt Lake and Utah Valley, I noticed a LOT of billboards advertising cosmetic procedures. I decided to investigate the phenomenon and see if anything was going on. Since I’m a journalist and I’ve always enjoyed research, I got home and got to searching for information that would back up my suspicions about there being a trend or not. What I was able to substantiate, numbers-wise, was that there are a lot of plastic surgeons in Utah, more than what would be expected per capita. I interviewed some surgeons, and their opinions were that there were just a lot of doctors who wanted to live in Utah; there’s a medical school in Salt Lake City as well, so a lot of doctors stay in the area after graduation. My opinion was that there was more going on. But first, I put together the information at hand in this article for KSL.com: “Utah No. 8 in the U.S. in numbers of plastic surgeons per capita.”

I decided to follow it up with another facet of the phenomenon: what therapists had to say about it. So I wrote this: “Factors contributing to high rates of cosmetic surgery in Utah plentiful, complex.”

I must say, given the information I have researched over the months, I have to agree with the counselors and psychological opinion. And I’m contributing to work on the topic. I have been interviewing women who have elected to have cosmetic procedures, and they have told me time and again that they just felt really self-conscious about their bodies. Their husbands, they have told me, didn’t want them to have surgery, but they did it for themselves. They simply felt bad about how they looked, and surgery seemed to be the only way to fix it.

My involvement in this topic is still in the early stages. I’d like to interview many more women, and even men, about this issue. My faith is similar to that of many in Utah, who are predominantly members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and in the six months I’ve been reading about this issue and interviewing, I’ve just been dismayed by the fact that these beautiful women who by and large believe they are created in the image of divinity feel it necessary to sculpt themselves by a surgeon’s knife. How have we come to this point? We are actively teaching our daughters that they are daughters of God and they have individual worth and a divine nature. How do we come to this disconnect, then, where we believe we can only feel truly good about our bodies if they are perfect, or nearly so, by society’s standards?

This is a complex issue indeed. I sympathize a great deal with the women I’ve talked to; I’ve given birth, my belly is soft and mushy and not even close to flat, and it’s lined by silver stretch marks. I’m the older side of 40, and my youth is not as close as it used to be. I’m only getting older and softer. But I’d like to rally myself and these other women to fight back against the devilishly prevalent media images and societal beliefs that are so insistent and constant that it is truly a battle within to keep them from becoming a part of our mindsets and self-images. Let’s fight. Let’s win this battle. Let’s remember who we are. Yes, let’s keep fit and healthy. Let’s eat well and exercise regularly and get sufficient sleep as much as is possible. But let’s not internalize these societal images to the point we feel it necessary to go under anesthesia and have someone cut into our bodies.

I heartily support the work of Beauty Redefined, a wonderful website and organization that “is dedicated to taking back ‘beauty’ for girls and women everywhere” and rejecting harmful media messages. I’ll be writing more about the media in other posts, because I am a journalist and because my parents taught me as I was growing up about media and its influences. My father focused his work at the end of his career in television and teaching on the idea of “media literacy,” making sure that all of us who are such heavy consumers (willing or not) of media would learn to critically analyze the messages that are being given to us regularly. I’m going to do my part to help educate and remind us all about how we can fight back and think in a healthy way about what we’re seeing and hearing.

Welcome to my inner world

My brain has always been full of ideas and interests. In high school, I participated in band, the school paper, the speech and drama team, and a variety of academic competitions. I took piano lessons. I enjoyed all of my classes, English and math and science. When I went to college, I decided to major in journalism because I enjoyed it so much, but also because I felt it would give me an opportunity to still investigate and learn about a variety of topics as I wrote about them (or edited what other people were writing). I still love to learn about almost anything, and reading and book reviewing has given me a great way to delve into tons of topics. I feel I’ve become somewhat specialized in a few areas, and I have a few particular interests I feel particularly passionate about enough to blog on. So this site will be the umbrella for the various topics I’d like to address, which will include, for the time being, books, beauty and self-image, mental health, home and family life, and then just whatever else I’d like to share. Feel free to contribute to the discussion by commenting.

Cathy Carmode Lim