I'm prettier than...

We have got to stop with the comparative statements of beauty.

"She's prettier than me."
"I wish I had her hair."
"If I had her legs, I would get a lot more attention."
"Man, look at that guy's biceps. Maybe I should start working out."
"I wish I could afford to look like that."
"How many people in this room look better than me?"
"How many people in this room do I look better than?"

It never ends. We seem to have constructed a continuum of beauty that we place ourselves and others on. But who decided the parameters?

I'm not as pretty as her:

(Meteorite ring model)

But am I prettier than her?


I'll get to the website where I got the second picture in a minute. First, I want to say that this is crap. Yes, I buy it and make these comparisons in my head all the time. But they are crap! The first woman is beautiful, no question. She has been worked on and made to look exceptional. The second woman has not had any enhancements. But does that mean she's not pretty?

This picture comes from a really great blog in which the author asks this and other questions of great importance. Please go read it.

The next time you find yourself comparing your attractiveness to someone else's, try describing particular features of theirs. Look at their hair and describe it to yourself: "She/he has thick, curly hair of such-and-such color." Then, describe your own: "I have thick, straight hair of such-and-such color." Then ask questions: "My hair gets frizzy in humid weather. I wonder if hers does? It must, because humidity naturally changes certain physical elements, like hair. It's science. I wonder how many times she had to brush her hair? I brushed mine 25 times."

Then look at their eyes. "His eyes are clear blue. The sun changes them in such-and-such way. My eyes are dark brown. The sun changes them in such-and-such way. I wonder if that person is wearing contacts? I am not, but I often feel like squinting. I wonder if he ever has to squint? I bet he does."

What I'm getting at is that since we naturally compare ourselves to others, we should use less subjective language and look more objectively at the differences between people. They are just differences. Noses come in all different shapes. Sometimes, these shapes give information about where we come from. Sometimes, these shapes give information about what we spend our money on. We all have different shoulders. Again, these can give information about our work, our heritage, or our health issues. They are just differences.

Actually, it can be kind of fun to look at people this way. You might start seeing beauty in the variations of the human form. You might start seeing faces equalize on the "continuum". You might start appreciating your own features individually and as the whole they make up.

So, the first woman is beautiful, the second woman is beautiful, I am beautiful, and you are beautiful. Why? Because we came from God's imagination, and when we stop to think about our intricacies and the threads we represent in the human tapestry, we have no choice but to be moved and awed by the gift we are to the world. Without our unique features, the tapestry would have a little flaw.

We don't have flaws that make us unattractive. The flaw would be if we didn't take our place in the spectrum of human beauty. The difference between a continuum and a spectrum is that a continuum starts at one point and moves forward to a final point (i.e. ugliness to beauty), while a spectrum allows different shades to be displayed in relation to the ones nearest. We can notice similarities in our features to others in our ethnic group or fashion club and differences between ourselves and people who really do look and dress vastly different, but that kind of comparison does not necessitate one being superior or more advanced than another.

Food for thought.

You're Perfect

Being totally vulnerable here. I have been on anti-depressants for years. As long as I can remember, anxiety and negativity have been my shadows. The meds never quite got me to where I wanted to be, so a couple weeks ago my doctor recommended a new tactic: a mood stabilizer. With bipolar disorder in the family history, I decided to try it. (By the way, the decision to go on meds came after and has been accompanied by years of therapy, prayer, and attempts at lifestyle changes.)

The last week has been a nightmare. Yelling, crying, throwing things, traumatized children, the works. Yesterday, after another yelling match and mild physical tussle with my wonderfully strong-willed daughter (whose life companion is ADHD) and my increasingly assertive son, I started crying and apologizing, yet again. I started into a lengthy explanation of how my brain is not well and I am waiting for my special medicine to start working so I don't get upset so easily, etc.

My daughter stopped, looked at me with a look in her eyes I don't think I've ever seen before, and said "You're perfect."

I looked at her, and I must have had a question in my eyes because she went on: "I mean, sometimes you're not perfect but mostly you look perfect to me."

Take this from my story and others I've written about my children's perspective on my hair loss and life in general: If you're going to listen to anyone and take to heart what any other person says about you, let it be a child. We all know how innocently brutal children can be with their honest perceptions, but even with the flaws they see, they can name perfection when they see it. Their definition of perfection is so different from ours. Maybe I'm generalizing when really my moment with my daughter was unique--but I'm getting the feeling that kids are our best mirrors. Yes, we see the worst in ourselves reflected back through their hurts and shame. But that's something we all have to accept as-is. Because we also see reflected in their eyes a wonder at the capacity for love we all carry. We see a reflection of ourselves at our most carefree, our most dependent, and our most undiluted lovely.

The Contentment Challenge--Day 7

It's the last day of the challenge, and I find myself back at the beginning, wanting to know what contentment really is. Is contentment a couch we settle into at the end of a busy yet satisfying day? Or is it more like a rest stop on a long road trip? Is contentment that "end" something I'm looking for, or is it a peace about not being ready for the next change just yet?

Being content with who I am does not and should not mean that I don't look for ways to become a more fully developed human, a better wife and mom, and a healthier woman. A self-professed contentment can easily become just the excuse I need to stop trying when things get hard. 

I have always lived in the gray bog that hangs between depression and elation. I enjoy life, but I'm not out to get thrills or conquer the world. Occasionally, I get really sad and stuck. Also occasionally, I dance around the house and cross off everything on my to-do list. But most of the time, I'm "content" to be a person who needs a lot of down time and has a small life.

But accepting myself this way keeps me from trying life another way--any other way.  

But the plot thickens when you add mental illness and special family needs to the mix. I have already been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder, and I'm fairly sure I'm going to earn a place of the Bipolar spectrum. I don't say that lightly. It's just fact. So "contentment" and motivation to change are a little less...intentional, it seems. Then there's my family. A fragile person like me (I know I'm oversensitive--no shame here) is easily overwhelmed by having a child with ADHD. So my lack of motivation often feels like either recovery or reinforcement. 

So, contentment. It's hard for me to arrive at, maybe even harder to move forward from. My challenge today is to pursue contentment and growth at the same time. For me, this reflects the beauty of the living art that I am--beautiful in my frailty, beautiful in my potential, beautiful in who I am and who I can be. 

Find your contentment and imagine where you can go from there. 

The Contentment Challenge--Day 6

Lately, I have been feeling too small. I want to take photographs, but all I have is my little iPhone. I want to host big parties, but I can only get a couple people to come. I want to be a creative writer and get more readership for my blog, but it remains more like a journal for myself and a few faithful readers (thank you!). 

I have a small life, but at the end of the day I must actually want that, since I don't take steps to go above and beyond. I suppose I could put myself out there and find a job that put me in a position to help a lot of people. I could buy a new camera and study some photography books, maybe take some classes, and really develop my skills (pun intended). I could submit my blog to various blogger groups and spend money trying to promote it. 

But I would rather spend my time reading great books, meeting friends for lunch, playing My Little Pony Monopoly with my daughter, teaching English to an Ethiopian refugee, etc. Those are the moments that make me feel alive and content. So I need to stop dreaming about how "large" my life could be and get my magnifying glass out on the life I actually have. 

I am content with my grainy iPhone pictures, because they reflect my ability to capture beauty while I'm on the go. I am content with my little parties, because the planning process is fun and makes the party enjoyable for whoever does come. I am content with this blog because it has been important for me to process my hair loss, regardless of the size of my readership. 

So, are you content with the "size" of your life?

(Have you been enjoying this challenge? For more a extensive challenge to find contentment each day, check out the 100 Happy Days challenge if you haven't already seen it.) 

The Contentment Challenge--Day 4

Looking at photos of myself will never be easy. I have just accepted that. I remember the day my fiance and I got the proofs from our engagement "shoot". I had been so looking forward to seeing them, because I had felt so cute the day we went out. But when I saw the results, I remember being mortified that I had dared to think I would make a beautiful bride-to-be in pictures. I think I cried in my room and hid the proof binders for quite some time, hearing my fiance knock on the door because he wanted to show his family the pictures. I was so embarrassed. What I had imagined as a playful giggle at the time turned up in one photo as a wide guffaw that resembled something you would only see on a farm.

(Photo retrieved at http://www.fotothing.com/SomersetDreams/photo/a8b1e626dc3bb52571a34d3b77625be8/)

What I thought was a relaxed stance looked more like the Hunchback of Notre Dame in the photos (I can only hope my posture has improved after that wake-up call). On and on the blows came. The pictures, through no fault of the photographer's, had not turned out the way I had imagined.

My pictures never do. A few years ago I had a friend of a friend take pictures of me in one of my favorite neighborhood spots...completely bald. It was a huge milestone for me (read my original post about my "unveiling" here.) But I similarly felt discouraged at my inability to look in pictures the way I imagine myself to look in real life.

So, today I choose some photos from that shoot to put on public display--and I choose to be content with the realities they depict.

Flaw I get hung up on: My earrings stick out like pirate hoops.
Reasons I am content: I have nice, long legs and a nice smile. Hoop earrings are made to stick out like that.

Flaws I get hung up on: One eye is smaller and squintier than the other. Major belly revealage. And those earrings...
Reasons I am content: I love that scarf. I love the angle of the horizon. I could be a shipping company owner here because I look confident and powerful.

Flaws I get hung up on: Oh, the blinding white orb that assaults my eyes. What a prominent skull. And the wrinkles abound. And the gums show forth.
Reasons I am content: I obviously really had fun doing this shoot. That's a smile I couldn't fake. And I really like that red jacket.

Flaws I get hung up on: Eyebrows are too manly. Freckles. Incongruence of dainty, feminine flowers juxtaposed with a bald cranium.
Reasons I am content: I love the light in my eyes. I love that I am standing in a lilac bush. Ah, I can smell them now...And I know each of those freckles. This is a familiar, intimate look at my face.

Flaws I get hung up on: That squinty eye again, those darn wrinkles, those big gums. 

Reasons I am content: I am seldom seen laughing like this! I look healthy. I really love the color of my shirt. 

So, there you have it. A set of photos that may or may not have been included in my original set. The process of choosing pictures was interesting. I wanted to pick photos that I cringed at initially, but I didn't want to choose photos that I have put in my "never see the light of day" folder. I didn't want to choose photos that I liked, because it would be harder to write about the flaws. Isn't that ridiculous?! 

But really, this has been a good exercise. The longer I looked through these photos, the harder time I had choosing ones that I didn't feel good about. 

You should try it. Look through that photos that make you cringe and find the reasons why you didn't toss them out. 

The Contentment Challenge--Day 3

My daughter really doesn't like to hear me put myself down. If I say I'm not as good at something as someone else, she flat out gets in my face and says "No, you're better!" If I admit weakness in an area or lament my lack of talent, she looks at me like I'm crazy and says "Yes, you're really good at that!"

What a gift! 

Often we laugh at the brutal honesty of children as they point out blemishes in public and innocently air our dirty laundry. But kids can also see right through the bull**** of our self-deprecating remarks and tell us the truth that we find so hard to admit--that we are not only good enough, but we are excellent.

So, today I accept the "me" my daughter sees: a musician, a singer, an artist, a beautiful woman, a chef, a fashionista, a genius, a mother. I am content that she sees me that way for now. I am content with the fact that I am enough of those things for her to experience, even she is using a rose-colored magnifying glass. 

Thanks sweetie. :) 

Can you be content to see yourself as someone else sees you today? 

The Contentment Challenge-Day 2

Last night I had a special birthday party to go to, and I almost ditched it for my bed and lots of candy. My preparations for the party looked like this: put on a scarf, rip it off and throw it on the floor; put on a wig, rip it off and throw it on the floor; put on a hat, rip it off and throw it on the floor; etc, etc, etc. 

Nothing was working. I couldn't wear a big scarf around my neck and a big scarf on my head. I couldn't wear a wig because they all poked, scratched, and look unnatural. I couldn't go bald because we are still living in the Arctic. 

Nothing. Was. Working. 

I finally decided on this cap: 

Not my best look, but I was late and I stopped caring. I threw a winter hat over it and left in a huff. When I got to the party, a man took my coat...and hat. It was that awkward moment when I had to reach up under my winter hat, put my hand on my head cap to steady it, stretch the winter hat up and over so the cap wouldn't come off and expose my scalp, and then adjust the cap anyway. 

But...today I celebrate the fact that I went to the party and ended up having a good time. I am content with the fact that I can overcome any first impressions by the way I hold people's gaze and let my personality shine through. And now, looking at this picture that I sent my sister when I was doubting whether I could actually go out in a cap like that, I think it looks retro chic, like I was at a party at Jay Gatsby's house. 

Where can you find contentment today? What moment will you celebrate?

The Contentment Challenge--Day 1

I'm in one of those emotional places where nothing is right. My entire wardrobe needs to be trashed, I'm so sick of being bald that I want to scream, I can't figure out how to get my eye makeup to look normal, my nose keeps running, I don't have a house with a yard, and my husband and I don't go out for dates and take pictures of our cute selves together. I have too many wrinkles in my forehead, my cheeks are too puffy, I'm not a good kisser, and I can't sew. And my head is too small.

My number one enemy right now is comparison. I think everything would be just fine today if I weren't comparing my life to other people's. I look around, I look at magazines and Facebook photos, I watch movies...and I see "better" everywhere. And it really ticks me off.

So...I am challenging myself. For the next 7 days, I will practice contentment. Not the kind of resigned acceptance that doesn't allow people to feel true joy, but the kind of contentment that comes from a sincere appreciation of present conditions, no matter how they look in the light of another person's circumstances. We all know circumstances can change. We have all been surprised to find out that the perfect couple whose pictures used to gag us are now getting a divorce, or that the family whose kids win all the awards are struggling to hide a substance abuse issue. It's so easy to look at a photo and think it represents a perfect life, but the best we can usually claim is a near-perfect moment here and there.

So, this week I'm going to celebrate those moments with people. I'm going to find something each day to congratulate someone on. I'm going to find something each day to love about my life.

Today I celebrate the announcement of a baby on the way! My sister-in-law and brother-in-law are expecting, and they had a professional photo taken of the "belly embrace" that made me simultaneously feel joy for them and sadness for the lack of picture perfect moments in my own life. I guess that's just jealousy that I often don't think to document life with nice pictures. It's jealousy that I don't look like her. It's jealousy that I don't have a house to raise my own kids in.

But...today I celebrate the perfect moment with them. It's an amazing and special time in their life, and I am overjoyed that she and the baby are healthy...and that I will get to be an aunt!

As for me, I need to remember that I did have wonderful "mom-to-be" moments. Like this:

Living in an amazing city, right down the street from the beach, looking classy. I love that moment.

What moment can you celebrate today? What do you love about your life?

Another Look

After almost ten years of marriage, I feel like I might finally be understanding something about my husband. He is multi-dimensional! I know, go figure.

When I first met him, I thought he was an obnoxious show-off (and he will be the first to admit that he was, indeed). Then he took the time to reach out to me during a period of intense homesickness and anxiety, and I saw a soft, loving, generous side of him. And then that was all I saw. He was up on a very secure pedestal, as most first boyfriends are.

Once the realities of family life settled in, my rose-colored glasses were ripped off and exchanged for an entirely new shade, something sort of brownish. I could only see his faults. Again, I think this trajectory is fairly normal (correct me if I'm wrong).

Another way I think of this is by comparing it to one of Chicago's biggest tourist attractions: The Bean. Technically, Cloud Gate--but it's earned a less lofty nickname due to its shape. You can be standing in the middle of this amazing city but only see a warped, distorted, bent image of one part of it--and if you stand in that spot long enough, you can slip into a different reality. You become mesmerized by the distortion and find it hard to look away. There's even a spot underneath The Bean in the center where you can look up and see yourself multiplied, with no sign of the city around you.

I feel like I have been looking at my husband in the reflection of a misshapen mirror for a long time. I have become fixated on this distortion, mostly because of that pedestal I mentioned earlier. My husband used to be one-dimensional, and now I am trying to reconcile that one dimension with the one I am allowing myself to see now. The key word here is one. I am still seeing only one dimension, one angle.

I need to tear my eyes away from the enticing yet distorted image I allow myself to get fixated on and turn around to see the entire, all-inclusive view. The view of the city after turning away from The Bean can seem flat at first, until you notice that you have a more grounded sense of space, distance, color and movement. Not to extend this analogy way past the point of ridiculousness, but I do think my husband is more like a city than a reflection of a building. He moves, he pulses, he lights up and then hides in darkness, he is assaulted and loved, he is tender and hard, he serves and he works and he entertains. He is simultaneously the past, present and future.

We all are. This is because we were created in the image of a multi-faceted God who is, was, and will be. The only difference is that God in perfection doesn't change (although God is always creating and renewing), whereas we are constantly growing, adapting and refashioning ourselves. I think I might slowly be learning to give my husband space to be all of himself and change as he needs to.

This applies, by the way, to anyone we have spent any amount of time with. Siblings, parents, children, roommates, friends, coworkers--they all deserve for us to step away from the bent image that kept us standing in one place and take in the entire picture, messy and frustratingly fluctuating as it may be.

Oh yeah...this applies to myself, too.

Birthday Blues

Yesterday was my husband's birthday. Not wanting to take him at his word that he didn't want to do anything special, I decided to put together a really special evening for him. 

And then I couldn't even get both candles to light. I spent the evening in tears. 

Let me fill in the middle of the story for you. I spent the whole day getting ready. I went all over town looking for the gift I had planned on giving him, but it was nowhere to be found. (Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating--I consider my two go-to stores "all over town".) I carefully studied the recipe for his favorite Egyptian dish and got all the ingredients--including a bag of wheat flour that really has no place in my gluten-free kitchen. For anyone who knows me, this is a huge sacrifice.  I got a balloon, I got out my blonde wig and planned nice, dressy outfits for myself and the kids, I got his favorite kind of cake...and these candles. 

I didn't time the cooking very well, failing to factor in the kids--pick ups taking longer than they should have, cries for attention, the whole bit. My attempt at Egyptian cooking was a colossal fail. I forgot which bag the cake was in and it smooshed to one side of the box. I didn't have time for any of us to get dressed up before he got home, I didn't have his Arabic music playing like I had planned, and I couldn't get both kids to make him a card. Besides that, I had a wicked headache and the kids were driving me absolutely crazy with their screaming. Happy screaming, but screaming nonetheless. 

And then one of the candles wouldn't light. 

And just like that, this selfless act of creating the perfect birthday where my husband would feel loved became all about me. 

Self-awareness can really be annoying sometimes. 

I am increasingly aware that, despite years of therapy for this issue, I still make everything about me. I still need affirmation like most people need water. I can only go three days without it. I know I set myself up to fail with this birthday dinner just so I could have a little "poor me, I tried so hard but nothing ever works for me" pity party and get loving attention and affirmation from my husband about everything that does work for me--or, more to the point, about me. I took on an incredibly difficult culinary challenge when I don't handle simple ones well; I actually thought my kids--my kids--could sit and make cards and dress themselves up; and I waited until the day of his birthday to shop for the gift. Somewhere deep, I think I knew I wouldn't pull it off. 

I'm pretty frustrated by the fact that I can't seem to accept who I am, inside or out. I see myself through the eyes of others, good or bad. And most of that is all in my head. 

Redefining my own beauty must involve setting realistic expectations for myself, even it means giving up all the attention I get when I fail. It must involve offering what I have, not what I wish I could have (like so-and-so does). It must involve looking at my mess of a meal and being proud to serve something that was prepared with so much love and such good intentions. 

The journey continues. 

What A Mess

I had a mommy moment tonight. I had to run out to the pharmacy this evening, and as I was strutting along in my electric blue scarf and T-shirt (my best color), I was feeling pretty good about the looks I was getting. Yes, I thought, I'm one hot momma.

Well, I didn't think that exactly. But I did feel pretty, confident, and young.

Then I happened to look down at my shirt (okay, I was trying to gauge how much I needed to suck in my chili-and-cornbread-belly so people wouldn't think it was a baby bump)--and I had to laugh.

I had big splatters of chili all over it. No wonder I was getting looks....

I have had more of those moments recently. I will be feeling good about how I look, and then I'll go into the bathroom and see that my scarf has gotten all crooked, or I accidentally rubbed the eyeliner off half of one eye, or I only have one earring...or, worst of all, I have some little tiny crust of something right at the tip of my nostril. And then I'm deflated.

But I think moments like these are incredibly important. When I saw what a mess I was tonight, I was reminded of the evening I spent watching my kids try something new for them (but an old family tradition I grew up with--cornbread in a glass of milk), and I knew where my place was. My place is not out in a singles bar or turning heads at a grocery store. It's in my home, eating chili and cornbread with my kids after a day of apple picking and wagon rides.

My place is walking along the lake shore on a blustery fall day, even if it means walking into work with a crooked scarf and crusty leftovers in my nostril.

We are real people. We are not poster images. When we walk to the pharmacy, we are telling the world a story about who we are and how we lived our lives that day. Tonight, I told people that I ate a big meal and didn't feel the need to change my messy clothes in order to please them. I told people that I spent the day outside and got a funny tan line from my scarf and sunglasses.

I bet people envied me.

What story will you tell when you walk out the door tomorrow?

Impressions

If you are not a fan of impressionism as an art form, I suggest you go back and take another look. The effect of color, lines, boundaries, shape, light, etc. on our senses is fascinating. It's especially fascinating to discover how different people respond to the same painting or photograph. We often come away with these different impressions because of past experiences, desires, moods, or even distractions. When I look at the works of impressionist painters, I always wonder if the impression I'm getting is the one the artist was hoping to produce.

What impression do you get from the picture above?

It's an edited photograph. It's one of my favorite pictures that I have ever produced. I took it with my iPhone and edited the colors a bit, but the impressionist feel was produced by the mere fact of looking out a rainy window.

I want to tell you the effect I hope this picture has on people, but I won't. Because in the end, it doesn't matter. I enjoy this picture in a particular way, but who am I to impose that on someone else? Neither would I want someone to tell me how a particular song is supposed to make me feel.

You know, I have been thinking of myself as an impressionist lately. I often ask myself, "What impression are you hoping to make on people today?" I might choose a more severe and dramatic set of eyebrows for the day, or a certain pair of shoes. There are countless ways I construct my "look" to produce some kind of overall impression of who I am...or who I want to be. At work, I like to give the impression that I am composed and mature. I find that the clothes best suited for this are buttoned blouses, turtlenecks, shoes with low heels and pointed toes, bracelets, and my scarf in a bun. When I am walking in my neighborhood and want to give off the impression that I belong in the 'hood, I like anklets, a scarf with a long tail down the back, big earrings, maybe a cap over my scarf, and a fairly tight T-shirt.

The gist is, I try to arrange colors and textures in such a way as to give an onlooker a certain impression of reality. I don't have one "look"; I have as many styles as I have moods, fears, hopes, or purposes.

The thing is, I can't totally control what impression people have of me at any given moment. I may try to give off a certain vibe, but it often backfires. I might go into work thinking I look professional, when coworkers end up making comments about how "fashionable" I look, as if I valued that. I might try to look like the consummate sports fan at a Cubs game, but the die-hards around me probably sense my boredom and ignorance as the game goes on.

The lesson in all of this, if there has to be one, is that impressionism is about the artist as much as it is about the onlookers. It is about reflecting some sense of reality that is true for the artist and may find resonance with some viewers. If not, then a new sense of reality can be constructed between and among differing impressions. Not to philosophize fashion, but perhaps we should consider that the act of choosing how we will dress and arrange ourselves every morning is an act of impressionism. And impressionism is simply (or brilliantly) a way to boil details down into the most important sensory experiences.

If you want to make an impression on someone, give them something to experience. Let them see colors that reflect how you see yourself that day. Let your impressionist art be about communicating the core aspects of your "person" rather than the stereotype you are actually trying to stuff yourself into. Allow yourself to be released into a community of onlookers (who are also artists themselves, don't forget) whose impressions of you, no matter how varied or deviant from your intentions, will enrich your human reality and produce empathic responses all around.

So, what impression are you trying to make today? I challenge you to ask that question every day this week.

The Many Faces of Me

My dear uncle-in-law recently gave me the gift of sight.

At a recent family gathering, I saw people huddling over something and pointing, so naturally I was curious. As I got closer, I saw a picture of my face. And then another one. And another.

I took a minute to scan the page, and realized that every one of the hundred or so pictures I was looking at were of me. A dabbler in photography projects, my "uncle" had put together a collage of sorts out of head shots he took from my Facebook page. It was overwhelming at first. Also overwhelming was the fact that everyone had been looking at the page and picking out their favorites before I had even had a chance to see it.

But the more I looked, the more special it became to me. I have often cringed at the sight of many of these photos, but seeing them altogether was different. I was looking at a portrait of a young woman who has a good life. Each picture is a separate memory, but as a whole the pictures come together in this beautiful harmony of features. Rather than pick out my flaws, I'm forced to appreciate the many ways my face can look. I feel as if I can see myself the way others see me. This is a huge breakthrough. I don't know if this makes any sense, so I highly recommend doing a similar project to any of you who have a hard time looking at self portraits. I think you'll find beauty in "you in the context of you".

Here, I share it with you now.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 10

Last day of the challenge. How was it for you?

Today's challenge is to repeat this mantra: Everyone sees me, and no one is looking at me.

Assume that everyone takes notice of you. You are not invisible, you are not unappreciated. You have made an impression, however brief, on everyone in your path. People notice the colors you chose, the way you carry yourself, and the confidence you exude.

Also assume that no one is looking at the details you fret over all day. People see you as a whole package, not as the sum of the many flawed parts you tend to focus on. No one is scrutinizing you the way you do yourself.

I hope these daily challenges have helped you to at least acknowledge some of the hangups we all face every day as we go out into a world dominated by narrow definitions of beauty. Repeat them as needed.

You are beautiful.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 8

We all have features we would rather keep hidden. Freckles we cover up, noses we fix, bellies we suck in. Most of us have one or two body features in particular that we just hate.

I hate my little toes. My pinky toes. The nails don't grow normally. They grow in a pile, on top of themselves. Gross, I know. I have always been very sensitive about my toenails, even waiting until age 28 to get my first pedicure! I have finally gotten to the point where I can wear flip flops without embarrassment, because I have realized that no one looks at or cares about my little toes.

I need to fall in love with my toes. If I can grow to love one of my "worst" features, it should hopefully be that much easier to love the rest of what I see in the mirror.

The challenge for today is to write a love poem to your worst feature. It can be an ode to your crooked nose, a sonnet to the mole on your cheek, a haiku in honor of the knobby knees you try to cover no matter how hot it is outside...whatever.

Here's mine:

My toes,
my toes,
the nails grow
like a rose
in folds
over folds.

My toes,
my toes,
cramped and hidden
in shoes unbidden
you get stuffed into
fittin'.

Come out, little toes,
you're cute like my nose.
Point and wiggle,
and I will giggle
at my toeses,
my roses,
my "I-help-you-goeses".

You're vital,
never idle,
shoes wide'll
be your home.

My toes,
my toes,
no need to change
or nails to rearrange,
for the range
of strangeness
is beauty
to me.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 6

Straighten up!

Today's challenge is to walk, sit, stand and move as straight as possible.


(Image from http://coreconnexxions.wordpress.com/2012/01/30/straighten-up/)

For me, good posture is a confidence issue. I never wanted to stand straight it felt like I was trying to stick my chest out. I saw those girls at school, walking around with sway backs because they wanted everyone to notice their female endowments. I didn't want to be like that. Well, actually I did...I just didn't have the proper equipment. So I slouched. I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that my figure was anything but girlish.

I also slouch when I'm with people who are shorter than me. I do this, I think, to make sure they don't feel bad about not having the height I do. It's also awkward for me to talk down to people.

The problem with slouching is two-fold. First, it creates actual physical problems. Any chiropractor will tell you that. Second, and this is where the challenge comes in, it affects how you see yourself. When I see a picture of myself slouching, I feel old and bent. I look frumpy, tired, and sloppy. When I walk with a slouch, I actually have less energy to move around with.

When I catch myself slouching and straighten up my back, I suddenly feel empowered and confident. At least, I'm aware that I look that way to other people. I still have to deal with the issue of looking like those girls in my high school, but all in all I think I've realized that my posture really affects the image I have of myself. It feels good to walk tall.

Try to notice your posture a little more today than usual. Walk with your head high, your shoulders back, and chest unabashedly out. See how the world looks from a few inches higher.

The 10-Day Redefining Challenge--Day 5

Someone asked me yesterday why I had changed my Facebook profile picture. I had been using a picture of a drawing my daughter made of me, but I was a little bored and decided to change it to the picture I posted on this blog yesterday. As I talked with this person a little more, we discussed motives for posting certain profile pictures over other ones. We tend to choose really flattering photos to post as the representational images of ourselves. There's nothing wrong with that--we all do it, we all want to put our best face forward, we all want to make a good impression.

As I looked at my photo, I began to see all the ways in which it's actually not very flattering. The bags under my eyes, those protruding lines of my neck, the general paleness...I'm laughing about it now, but catch me on the wrong day and that picture could actually make me cry. It's not my most flattering picture. If I wanted to impress people, I might post this picture:



I have a beautiful dress on, great hair, and shadows on my face to hide the bags under my eyes! Well, sort of...

But that's not always how I look, obviously. I'm afraid to post a profile picture that really shows people how I look "at home", which is not always so flattering. Here's one my daughter snapped of me while I was playing with my son:



Yeah, not so great. I would never post that as my profile picture.

But, it is a picture of me; therefore, it is beautiful. Every picture of every person must be beautiful. We are beautiful in design, beautiful in how we move, beautiful when we are living. I just can't always see that.

My challenge for us today is to find unflattering pictures of ourselves and look at them until we find them beautiful. I don't care if it takes ten seconds or ten minutes--get to know yourself from all sides and angles, see the beauty of any shape and pose, and redefine what a "flattering" photo looks like. You don't have to go so far as to post one of these as your profile picture, but it might be freeing to do so eventually. Find a picture of yourself that makes you chuckle when you remember what was going on when it was snapped, and post it as a representation of a life-giving memory rather than as the face you want people to see.

But that might take some leading up to. For now, just have courage to look at those pictures which you usually pass over or hide behind others in the album. Stay with them until they are beautiful to you. When you get to this point, chances are good that you will finally be seeing them the way others do: without judgment.

You look...

"You look tired."

Really? I was feeling pretty good today, actually. Until now.

"Are you ok? You look upset."

Um, I was just thinking about whether to cook pasta or tacos for dinner.

"Hey, lighten up. You look like you're about to kill someone."

Nope, wrong again. Just enjoying the view out my window.



Why don't people ever tell me "You look like you're glowing today!" or "Wow, you look so refreshed!" Is it really that I look bad all the time, that I'm not getting enough sleep, that I have clinical depression and so cannot muster enough energy to keep a smile on my face? Or is it that the lines of my face were originally drawn in a certain shape, and it takes a lot to align them in a way that fits people's idea of what a "happy person" looks like? Yes, I feel down much of the time. But I also feel good and contented quite often. Yesterday I had a great class in the morning and I was feeling pretty good about the day, but then a colleague hit me with that first line: "You look tired." I did have a rough weekend, so maybe it takes more than a good morning to counteract the effects of two really hard days. Maybe now that I'm in my thirties, I can't spend a whole evening crying and expect my face to show no signs of it the next morning.

(The story of why I was crying is not relevant. No worries, it's nothing too serious. Just beating myself up over a mistake I made. I'm slowly getting over it.)

Okay, to satisfy your curiosity, this is my face when I am not thinking or feeling anything--just letting my face fall as it may:



Do I look mad? Depressed? Bored?

Here I am thinking about something irritating:



Hmm...not too different. It's funny, I just snapped these pics and didn't look at them too closely. It felt like I was really making an effort to show my irritation, but you can't really see that.

Okay, well here I am thinking of something light and happy:



See, again I really felt my smile muscles stretching. I totally felt like I had a big grin on my face, but it looks like a forced smile in this picture.

I am so afraid of being over-the-top, of people thinking that I'm trying to attract attention to myself, that I rein my expressions in to err on the side of masking my feelings. That, or I really do have the "flat affect" that is commonly seen in people with depression. It takes A LOT for me to show strong feelings on my face, no matter how I may be processing on the inside.

But is that okay? Do I need to walk around with a smile stretched across my face in order to make others feel more comfortable around me? The thought of that just exhausts me. Maybe someday, with therapy and medication, I will be able to break into a smile that can light up a room, or a scowl that makes my enemies scurry into hiding. For now, I'm just ho-hum me. I enjoy life enough. I make an effort to let people know that I am happy for them or hurting for them, and then I come home and crash from the sheer weight of my own face. That's a burden I have to live with right now.

What does your face tell the world?

Stains

This is one of my biggest pet peeves:



Stains. Especially on brand new clothes. Especially after pulling said clothes out of the dryer with the sinking realization that the stain I treated so carefully in the wash is now set in the fabric forever.

Stains really, really bother me. When my daughter was a baby, I lived in an apartment where the laundry room was in another courtyard, across a parking lot. I usually skipped the trip and washed my baby's clothes by hand in my tub. I got that Baby Oxyclean powder(amazing stuff!!) and soaked her onesies in a bowl on my kitchen counter, then scrubbed them with detergent in the tub, wringing them out for what seemed like hours before draping them over the drying rack by the back door. If I saw that a spit up stain (or worse) had not come all the way out, I repeated the whole process over again, adding even more Oxyclean and soaking the garment for even longer.

Those days are over, thank God.

Now I have a washer and dryer at my disposal, right in my kitchen! I can literally do laundry while taking a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. Not that I've ever done it.

I find that the convenience of having my own washer and dryer has really dampened the energy and motivation I once had for treating stains. That, and the acceptance I've had to muster as I watch my kids paint every surface of the house, our furniture, and their clothes with mango juice, yogurt, BBQ sauce, ketchup, salad dressing...you get the idea.

Oddly, stains from bodily excretions come out way easier than BBQ sauce. Well thank goodness for that.

Now that my kids are older and more active, I have dirt and grass stains to deal with along with food stains. I quickly saw the futility of trying to keep new kids' clothes pristine for any length of time. So, stained they come in and stained they go back out.

BUT...not only do they stain their clothes, they also have the audacity to give me a hug during dinnertime and get some greasy, oily substance on a shirt I happen to really love. I know, serves me right for wearing anything of any value to a dinner table where kids are present.

My immediate reaction when I pull a stained shirt of mine out of the dryer is to throw it in a bag destined for the thrift store donation center. I can't look sloppy, after all. By some twisted logic in my head, there are people out there who wouldn't mind looking sloppy and buying my stained shirt for a couple dollars.

Why am I so repelled by stains? If my husband has a stain on his shirt, I get totally grossed out. He doesn't mind wearing the same shirt in the evenings at home for a week or two straight. He knows the shirt is dirty, and he knows that attempting to keep it clean is a total waste of time for him. He knows I am the only person who will see it. For him, the shirt signifies play time, a relaxing evening at home after a day in Corporate Land, perpetual snacking, and freedom to be who he wants and spend time on things that matter.

For me, his shirt signifies mess. Unkempt, slovenly mess.

Why?! Stains don't hurt. They have stories. They are like scars, except the getting of them likely caused less pain.

I heard a sermon once about living "disposable" lives. Some of us are used to trashing that which is broken and replacing it with something new. Like a toaster or a pair of shoes. How many of us take the time to mend what is broken and continue allowing that object (relationship, self image, etc.) to keep its proper place in the world and function as it was meant to function? I feel like seeing stains on my clothing wouldn't repel me so much if I were the type of person who was comfortable with imperfection and conflict.

Instead, I can't focus on anything else once I have seen a stain. I can't rest until it's either cleaned or taken out of my house. Do I do the same thing with people?

I certainly see my own "stains" all too clearly. And I try to conceal them, or I live in the angst of wanting to trade in one "suit" for a new one. If I see a stain in someone else, that mark (not without its own story, mind you) can grow in my mind's eye and come to characterize that person. It can be hard to see around the stain and take in the whole person.

Well, I am daring myself to keep my stained clothing...and wear it out. Some might say this is disrespecting myself. I'm not planning to go out in total filth; I just want to free myself from the false perfection I hide behind when it comes to my clothing. I don't want to be so careful about keeping mess off of me, because mess is where life happens.

Shapes

LOVE YOURS!! There's no changing it. Not really. The world is full of interesting and beautiful shapes. An apple may wonder what it's like to be a tree once in awhile. A pear may look at a Coke bottle with envy. But the shapes do not, cannot, will not change. Thank goodness. Shapes are wondrous. Your shape is your boundary, the space you carve out so uniquely. The images here are merely types. You are more than a "type". You are a shape with its own name, original lines and curves that defy "types". Love your shape.