I let go of vanity in February.
It's like Arnold Lobel's Frog and Toad story (I liked Frog and Toad even more than the vegetables who sang about God being bigger than the boogieman and Dave and the Giant Pickle) of Frog and Toad and cookies.
*ahem*
Frog and Toad bake cookies. They cannot stop eating the cookies, so Frog puts the cookies in a box, ties the box with string and then places the box of irresistible baked goods on top of a very tall shelf.
"Now we will not eat the cookies," said Frog.
"But we can climb the ladder, cut the string, open the box and eat the cookies," Toad argued.
So Frog went outside and gave the cookies to the birds.
"Hey birds, here are cookies!"
"Now we have no cookies," Toad looked sad.
"No, but we have willpower," said Frog.
"You can keep the willpower, Frog. I'm going home to bake a cake."
I am Toad in this scenario. Just because I no longer have cookies doesn't mean I no longer want them. Just because I gave them all away doesn't mean I haven't stopped missing my perfect blue dress.
But what I crave even more emphatically than cookies (my blue dress) is the ability to love myself. To love myself regardless of how I'm perceived by others. To let go of my need to control my appearance and to let myself be.
He thinks I look frumpy in my blue harem pants. She just glanced at and away from my hairy legs. Oof. That woman said my hairy armpits give her nightmares. Ouch. No. I don't need to feel oof or ouch. I mean, I can if I want. But I can also realize that I don't need to internalize, personalize the reactions of other people -- be it cat calling, disgust or pity. Their reactions have absolutely nothing to do with me.
Every human on this planet struggles with insecurity. The primary difference is how this insecurity manifests itself in our lives. I think that when people are insecure, they reach out. Blindly. They need something to hold onto. Something to give them power. Something to control.
When people are flailing in fear, sometimes what they catch surprises them. But they hold onto it because they're afraid to let go and to fall again. Because even if they hate what they hold, it's saving them from falling into the void. A black hole. The unknown. The place where all the nightmares they can't remember live.
Some people hold onto others and find their relationships becoming more and more abusive as their need to control something turns into their need to control their partner. Maybe they hate themselves for this behavior, but they can't let go. Dominating someone else gives them control over a frightening, confusing world. Over the nightmares. Inflicting pain and instigating fear makes them momentarily forget their own void as they happily, hatefully, regretfully watch someone else fall through theirs.
I sincerely believe no one in this world enjoys inflicting pain.
People just enjoy forgetting about their own.
When some people fall, they reach out and grab a part of themselves. It's easier to hold ourselves than it is to hold others, right? Deep down, I think we all know that the only person over whom we exert any real power is "me". And even this measure of control is limited by our experience and our genetic makeup. What we grab onto in ourselves is influenced by the demands of our society.
Society. Society is a weird word that I think has somehow become a character. A comrade or a villain (oftentimes both) in our lives.
Society (collective vindictive laugh) controls us with shame. Religion (similar laugh, but more soprano) controls us with shame and fear. When we're falling into the unknown, I think we reach out to hold onto the biggest thing around. The most cancerous growth in many of us is shame. What we have been told to loathe about ourselves becomes what we try to control -- in ourselves and in others.
For many, the shame is related to appearance. For some, it's intellect. For others, it's competitive sports. For loads, it's an unpleasant concoction of all the above.
Shame is a very effective glue. Once we've got it between our fingers and tangled up in our sense of self-worth, it's sticking around for a while. In my opinion, shame is surpassed only by fear and love (but love requires us to pass through our fear).
When I was thirteen, I reached out mid-fall and grabbed the shame associated with the words, "your thighs and butt wiggle when you move." This happens to so many girls that it almost feels normal. Maybe it is normal in an age in which physical beauty is deemed of paramount importance, but just because such a high percentage of girls reach out and hold onto eating disorders to keep themselves afloat does not mean that the pain should be disregarded.
Eating disorders were easy for me to get away with in my home. I've always fought for my health (which usually felt like a fight against me), and many of these fights included juice fasts or water fasts. In my childhood, there was a time I fasted on electrolyte water for a month. The first few days were hard -- dizziness, fatigue, cramps -- but the fourth, the fifth, the sixth... amazing. And the control. The sense of purpose in such a confusing, overwhelming time. Going to bed with a triumphant smile, an empty stomach and white knuckles from holding onto my shame so damn hard.
I thought I was conquering my shame, but in all honesty, my desire to combat those words defined my life. My shame had completely conquered me.
I remember the tiny bowls of frozen raspberries I'd allow myself for breakfast. Pinching that bit of skin where the forearm meets the elbow and indulging in moments of beautiful, seductive, wretched self loathing.
You're so ugly. I don't know how people can even look at you. But all you have to do is get rid of this. Then you'll be beautiful. Then people can look at you again.
The problem with this kind of addiction is that you can never win. You have set yourself up to perpetually fall short because the moment you look in the mirror (or in your heart) and truly love the person you are, guess what? You're falling. Again.
I think people are afraid to love themselves.
Love is the other side of the unknown. The void. And we're afraid to fall into the void because the last time was fucking scary. Life isn't perfect now, but at least it's under control... right? We're not happy, but at least we feel safe. We think (and hope) other people look at us and see what they want even if it isn't what we want. What Society tells them we ought to be. What Society tells us we ought to be.
I hold onto many shames. One of my biggest shames was and is my body and appearance. Eating disorders continued to be my stab at control through university, but clothes weren't such a big deal because I had something else keeping my soul out of the void -- my shame about my inferior intellect. Being homeschooled alongside a veritable genius had filled me with a deep and poisonous shame regarding my intelligence. So during university, I held onto the shame related to the words, "What's wrong with you? He can do it. Why can't you?"
For me, academics were driven by my fear of not being enough. I worked hard not so much because I loved working hard, but because I was white-knuckling that shame
School ended. My eating disorder worsened and I started to worry more and more about my appearance. The year following my graduation from university was one of my most identity shattering years thus far, as my daily fight against the intelligence shame had been stripped from my clawing hands.
But then...
Travel.
I started my solo traveling adventures in June, 2011. Little did I know that travel would force me to let go of shame, fall into fear and face the unknown.
(I just thought I was gonna get better at directions and talking to strangers. Maybe do a little yoga here and there and learn a thing or two about harvesting beetroot. You know.)
I started off in Spain. Went to Italy. Then to Ireland, Denmark, France, Morocco. I quickly learned that every culture has very diverse ideas about the physical aspect of beauty (although said ideas are being more and more influenced by popular media and globalization).
But still. Travel taught me something super-duper valuable.
It's physically impossible to be physically beautiful for everyone.
And you know what that means? Physical attractiveness isn't about me and all I can do in this scenario is learn to feel comfortable in my own skin (which is quite hard enough, thank-you very much).
I can feel beautiful to me. Right now. Not after my skin clears or I lose that extra ten pounds.
Now.
Traveling left me with my shame of my youth echoing through my body, but paralyzed my hands. It is extremely difficult for an eating disorder to manifest itself whilst on the road. It is extremely difficult to hide.
I learned this on my first trip. Strangers notice the things friends don't see. Friends are often more afraid of offending than strangers. And some friends just take for granted that you'll tell them if something's wrong.
If you don't eat dinner two evenings in a row, your mama might not notice, but the Italian mama who prepared gluten-free pasta just for you sure as hell will.
I've learned that society gives us our choice of shame and then teaches us how to hold/fight it. But even though our shame is a gift from our culture, once we've grabbed onto it, it usually becomes a very private thing. Showing our shame makes us vulnerable. It reveals to us and to others our desperation and insecurities. And I think we're afraid of letting loved ones see our panic attacks, self-loathing and substance induced numbness because a) we're afraid of losing their love and b) we're afraid of the other kind of fallers -- the kind who reach out and hold onto those around them.
Shame. It's so big. It's like one of those rocks on an indoor climbing wall that you hold onto after a tiny teasing crack and you breathe, "Thank god, you're an easy hold. Think I'll stay here for a while."
So if you can hold onto it, someone else can too. Right? Someone else can exploit that big ass rock, so you sure as hell better keep it out of sight.
But traveling has crippled my hands by stripping me of control of my diet and by taking away my privacy. I eat what I'm given when I'm given it and that's generally the way it goes. Instead of loathing myself, I've learned to close my eyes and enjoy the food in the present.
I did not always enjoy food as much as I do now. I could live off of gooey sprouted wheat (before I discovered my allergy) and electrolyte water. I wasn't exactly happy with this, but I was safe. It was my shame inspired diet.
I lost control at mealtimes, but through February, I could still manage my wardrobe. I still had the power to create the person I thought others wanted to see by lining my eyes in black and wearing a sexy white shirt that showed off my tan skin and chaturanga muscles through its lacy back.
Three and a half years ago, I had no choice to loosen my grip on food, but eight months ago, I chose to leave that shirt in Istanbul. I made the conscious decision to release my last finger from that big fucking rock and fall into the void.
No control of diet. No choice of wardrobe. No power over my physical appearance.
I don't think I can reach self-love until I fall through my fears without flailing wildly in an effort to hold onto something. I need to fall through fear with my hands at my sides. Fall through fear with a still mind. I won't reach self-love until I learn to live without control.
This phase of my life is about acceptance.
I've been falling for over eight months now. I've gotten very hairy and very bruised on the way down. I've caught myself reaching out for other things from time to time, but have done my best to keep my hands in my pockets.
Comparisons. Falling naked (and hairy) has taught me a little something about comparisons.
They are a kind of reaching out.
I see a woman wearing a gorgeous red dress that perfectly accentuates her kickass body. Do I think, wow, she's beautiful... and let it sit at that?
Hell no.
I think, I bet if she knew I've been traveling for 16 (and a half) months, she would want to be me. I bet if she knew that I'm going to Mexico in December, she'd think I'm pretty cool. Even though I'm wearing these ridiculous pants and this shirt that doesn't fit and have gained so much weight and probably look like I haven't slept in a real bed in about 17 years...
The problem is... it doesn't matter how happy the person in the gorgeous red dress would be with my life. I'm the person who needs to be happy with my life.
If only she knew... then she'd want to be me.
The problem... it doesn't matter/won't change anything if she wants to be. I need
to want to be me.
But in order to not feel shame, I reach for a list of accomplishments --
-- and then I stick my hands in my pockets.
NO. Bourget. You do not need to hold onto this. Keep falling.
I think we are defined by our shame as long as we fight it. I think that when we allow ourselves to discover the person at peace, the person who doesn't need to constantly compare or fight or resist, we are getting our first glimpse of who we really are. Of the person who exists beyond the scripts given to us by our environment.
These last few months have been extremely hard for me -- especially since I've spent a lot of time in fashion conscious cities like London, Barcelona, Vienna and all of freaking Holland.
I feel like someone who just quit smoking by sewing her mouth shut but that everyone around is chain smoking all her favorite cigarettes. And when boys say, "Aimee, you could be perfect if you would only wear a short skirt," I feel like they're blowing the smoke in my face and flaunting the cigarette in front of me.
But I continue to fall. I want to know that if I ever do put on that short skirt, it's not because I'm ashamed of who I am without it. I want to know that if I ever do shave my legs again, it's because I like how smooth they are and not because I feel gross with a bit of extra fluff.
This part of my life is about letting go of shame.
Falling through fear.
And (eventually) landing in self-love.
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