Sometimes I have to wear two sports bras when I run so that people don’t stare. They are wild animals, my girls. Because I have a small frame and some pretty serious knockers, it’s really hard to find sports bras that are big enough and small enough at the same time. And they sag, so I really need the support or it ain’t pretty. And all of my fellow God-given boulder babes know that it’s not just the natural aging process that causes this fantastic droopage, but our overall body weight has everything to do with it as well. When we gain weight, they magically get perkier; when we lose weight, they sag.
THIS IS A SERIOUSLY DIRTY TRICK, UNIVERSE.
I started taking this drawing class recently to practice getting out of my creative comfort zone and continue to piss off my perfectionism. I tend to stick to things I’m good at, so it has been really fun to just pick up a piece of charcoal—something I had ever only used on a BBQ—and just draw. There is no teacher or instruction; just a nude model, some mellow music and whatever materials I bring with me.
So far all the models have been women, and it has been such a new experience to sit there for two and a half hours and just observe the female body in all its glory. Full curves and flat bellies. Athletic builds or soft and sensual. Small breasts, big beauties. Lots of hair, no hair. Confidence, insecurity. ALL. ABSOLUTELY. STUNNING. With each line on my paper I feel more and more like a woman, and like this brief artistic exchange is somehow honoring the power we hold just by being. Sitting up there on that platform, stretched out along that white sheet, I know there is nothing in this world that she can’t do. I mean look at her. Wow. Pure awe.
And then…a wave of sadness. A devastating reality check. Why can’t I look at myself that same way? Now don’t get me wrong, I have come a long way in my self-lovin’ and I give my body a whole lotta high fives and atta girls, but I know with 100% certainty that I have never been in awe of each line of my beautiful curves, feeling more and more powerful by the minute. It just doesn’t happen. And so I started to internally explore that a little, when I was suddenly interrupted by the woman sitting next to me.
“Can you believe she has the guts to sit up there?” I probed a little more as I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with this. “Well, she’s not at all thin. She has that belly on her and her breasts are even saggy.” I’m not exactly sure if I was more hurt, in shock or straight-up pissed off as I had just come out of my spiritual love affair with this whole feminine experience and was about to give myself a major self love pep talk, only to be emotionally shat on by a fellow superwoman. The old me would have probably made some playful comment about my own hanging headlights, judged her as a traitor to her own kind and then sat there contemplating a boob lift as I cursed my drawing for being a piece of crap and then left early to go drown myself in popcorn and Netflix. But instead, I got curious. Progress! Go, me!
She looked to be about 65-years old, very slim with a kind yet tight face. She wasn’t all that small, but she seemed tiny. I’m not sure if that makes any sense, but she just looked as though she had been living inside a very small story. I immediately wanted to know more. She said she would have never gotten in front of anyone naked. She couldn’t believe that this woman looked so comfortable up there. That belly. Those breasts. She seemed both shocked and envious. Confused yet amazed. I watched the deep lines on her face move as she spoke, her small arms conservatively dancing with her words, her shiny silver hair pinned up in a bun. I couldn’t help but think she would look so incredibly gorgeous up there modeling for us on that platform.
So rather than making a joke and moving on, I shared some of the thoughts that were going through my head before she engaged me in conversation. Rather than putting down my body, I lovingly shared with her how I too sometimes struggle with being comfortable in my own skin. I told her how this class has really been empowering me to look at women’s bodies in a different way, and that I think slowly but surely it is having an effect on the way I see myself. These women inspire me to be proud of who I am, exactly as I am.
We talked about social media and how it’s so often a curated collection of perfect poses and filtered faces, creating unrealistic standards for bodies and beauty. I told her about Rachel Hollis, founder of The Chic Site lifestyle blog, and how a photo she posted a while back of her in a bikini captioned, “I have stretch marks, and I wear a bikini,” went viral and impacted women all over the world. In the photo she sported her, and I quote, “flabby belly” and “saggy belly button,” and encouraged other women to “Flaunt that body with pride!”
I said I think that it was such a big deal because it’s so rare for women to be real and vulnerable these days, especially with all the photo editing tools we now have available to “fix our flaws.” (Don’t even get me started on some of the apps I have seen recently where you can literally alter your entire face.) I think we forget what women actually look like in real life, so we are devastatingly hard on ourselves for being…human. And we get depressed. We hide. Or we strive, and strive and strive. I know I did all three.
I went home that day and couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation. Something’s gotta give. I mean, it’s scary to think about what will be next. Mother Teresa said, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.” Now I wish I had an immediate cure for this beauty/body/image culture that I believe is so dangerous for women today, but unfortunately I don’t think there is one. Like Mother Teresa, however, I do believe that we can all do our own small part to make a big difference.
For me, unconditional self love and vulnerability are the “small things” I try to do every day with great love, because I believe they have the power to change the world. How many makeup, diet, fitness, wrinkle cream, hair removal , yada yada yada ads/posts/promotions do you see in a day? Can you even count? And how many do you see about loving yourself exactly as you are? Now there is nothing wrong with having fun with makeup and getting an ass you can bounce a quarter off of, but why doesn’t self love come first? Because if it doesn’t, it becomes conditional, and then it will control us for the rest of our lives.
I lived most of my adult days packing on the makeup, sculpting the perfect updo, spending half my time in the gym, counting calories and cursing myself in the mirror, but it wasn’t until I learned to love myself first that the rest began to slowly fall into place. When my life coach invited me to spend some time out in the real world with a makeup-free face, I actually started to prefer my real face, and makeup became a fun accessory for special occasions or a night out on the town. And when I started to love and appreciate my body for all that it does for me, I began to truly care about what I put into it and found a new inspiration for staying active; not to get abs of steel, but to be strong, healthy and powerful so that I can go out and help change the world.
So first, learn to love the real me. And next, SHOW IT TO THE WORLD. Not the perfectly manicured me. Not the me that shows up every 20th selfie I take. Not the me after 10 minutes of photo editing. Not the me that I love only when I look damn fine in a bikini or after an hour in front of the mirror. Pure me, exactly as I am in this moment. For me, that is vulnerability and something that I will probably continue to struggle with for some time, but will always, always lean into.
And if only for today, I will—and this is one of my absolute favorite quotes—“Walk around the house like a fucking champion.” Sexy, saggy boobs and all. And tomorrow, I will start again.
What will YOU do?
