We come in all shapes and sizes...
This week a problem from a woman who hates her body - it's a tragedy so many of us feel like this. What do you think?
I HATE MY NAKED BODY….
Dear A&E,
I’m nearly 50, I’m healthy, I have lovely friends, I’m happily divorced from the father of my three (quite nice) teenage children and I own (most of) my house. Life is basically good – for which I’m grateful, as I see so many people going through hell. I just hate my body. Before we broke up, I don’t think my husband had seen me naked for 10 years, and the idea of stripping in front of someone new is so horrifying that it doesn’t even seem possible. I’m generally good at counting my blessings, but my boobs and tummy (and the rest) just make me feel so sad. How can I stop being so stupid and shallow?
–Self-disgusted
Dear Self-disgusted,
We come in all shapes and sizes, don’t we? All races and ages and types? It’s just a shame that we are pitted against each other so endlessly that we end up being pitted against ourselves. Who and what are we competing with? Who and what are we comparing ourselves to?
It’s incredibly hard. For all the body positivity movement (and, even better, the body neutrality movement), beauty standards are still there, everywhere we turn, and they are impossible. Impossible for the young and old alike.
People are doing more to themselves than ever. Extreme exercise; “75 Hard”; tweakments aged 19; plastic surgery; skinny shots. The pursuit of some kind of physical perfection only seems to be accelerating. We can’t keep up with all the “solutions”. And if these methods are “solutions”, then we can only conclude that we are the “problem”.
Then there’s the dishonesty: all of the Hollywood 50-somethings declaring that they look 24 because of ingestible collagen sachets rather than because of a deep-plane facelift and the rest. There is nothing cosy about modern beauty standards. Nothing accessible. Nothing comforting. Where is the lovely 50-year-old mother sitting on the sofa, radiant with love and wisdom? The one with a full heart and all the compelling dimensions that experience furnishes women with? That is you, Self-disgusted.
You grew babies and then ran yourself ragged loving them and worrying about them. You put your back out lugging things around, and vowed to do more exercise but couldn’t find the time between parents’ evenings, making sure a lasagne was on the table and earning a living. You managed your divorce without creating some kind of nuclear fallout, and here you are, being unbelievably hard on yourself; calling yourself “silly and shallow” all because we are judged for ageing and then judged for minding. It’s impossible.
Do not feel shallow and silly for having feelings about something you have been internalising for as many years as you have been alive. You are you, Self-disgusted. You are all the colours of your rainbow – step into them. Do things that remind you that you are strong and graceful; things that show you your body works. Inhabit your body as something active, not something to be looked at. At the end of a challenging class, a hike, a dance or a cold swim, it won’t be “this old body” but “what a body!”
Your friends will find you beautiful. Almost without exception, we think our friends are more gorgeous than they were 20 years ago. Your children will find you beautiful. And if men want to try to date younger women, then they can try to date younger women. Your body charts your journey. And do not expect men to be as judgmental as you are. When it comes to sex, your body is conduit for connection, not a pin-up to be leered at. There are plenty of men who are just delighted to be with a lovely woman, for all that she is and is not.
When we were in our 20s, we worried about being “good in bed” and had quite a lot of bad sex. Sex isn’t a beautiful ballet choreographed on two perfect physical specimens. Sex is human and messy and lumpy and funny and amazing, and all of the things that we are as people. As the niggles all join together as part of the ageing process, we are all going to look a little bit frayed. Either that or we are going to have to start taking drastic measures in order to make it bearable. In order to exercise some degree of control.
You will probably never stop minding, but that doesn’t matter. We can mind while we also accept and appreciate what is happening. We can mind while knowing what we have always known – that there will always be someone thinner, younger, richer, cleverer, prettier. We can mind while knowing that our younger selves (the ones with perkier boobs and sharp jawlines) were younger but not better. Not sexier. Not more captivating beyond the skin elasticity. And so we turn to the wisdom of Joan Rivers: “Listen,” she said, “I wish I could tell you it gets better, but it doesn’t get better. You get better.”
You are reaching the height of your powers, Self-disgusted. Time to remember who the fuck you are.
Oh, this is BEAUTIFUL. Thank you. I was just thinking about how strange it is that we apologise for our bodies, our homes and the things we offer each other - we wish the cakes were more even, the bouquets were bigger, the gifts more lavish. But the people we love only see things to love.
Best sign off ever!