I was recently in Southern California to visit my my mom and dear friend from junior high and high school, Jessica Carlson. We have known each other for nearly 40 years (our friendship is even older than my 1984 citroen). We know each other deeply— like the warm ocean we swam in, the same ocean we swam in when we were 12.
We know each other’s likes, dislikes, fears and deepest desires. Ours is the type of friendship that weathers months, even years, with little to no communication—
only to pick up again wherever we left off. A good laugh, cry, or long moments of silence are par for the course.
This past weekend we walked, talked, laughed, ate lots of frozen yogurt, and of course indulged in some good old-fashioned retail therapy. Three of us— my mom, Jessica and I ended up in a small, funky boutique in La Jolla where my mom knows the owner. (Note: it is not unusual for my mom to know most nice clothing store owners where she lives.
she loves a good shop— noun and verb.)
We were back at the sale rack trying on, commenting, sharing honestly about what looked great and not so great on one another. Such comfort can be found in honest, truthful opinions. “No… that pink does not do wonders for your skin colour. That blue is perfect for you. Try the smaller size,” etc. I crave this honesty, this truthful loving kindness, and am sure others do too.
The last thing I want is to add more clutter to my already full wardrobe.
We were ready to to leave with purchases in hand, the sales lady commented on how much fun we seemed to have. Our familiarity and love for one another is like the smell of chocolate chip cookies after a hard day of school— delicious, satisfying and comforting.
I spot one more top just before leaving, throw it on quickly, wrinkle my nose not wanting to ponder yet another purchase. I need more clothing like I need my feet to grow more (I am a size 42.5). I was going to put it back, claiming I really did not need it, nor did I think it looked really good on me.,Jessica proclaimed with authority, “You must have body dysmorphia. That looks amazing on you; you are a fool if you do not get it.” As in, “Buy it,” and also, “See that you look great!” I don’t often see this truth when I am alone. I need others to remind me of what I look like, and what I look good in.
I believe we all have this body dysmorphia to some degree, some more than others.
We look in a mirror hoping for the truth; thinking that the image reflected back to us in our own dysfunctional self-judgmental mind is accurate.
It is not.
We see a myth.
A lesser version of our beautiful, magnificent selves.
Our thinking gets in the way of seeing our beauteous selves.
The real mirrors are the ones who love us, and know us best— or sometimes, a complete stranger, who can can see us and is objective and kind. We need to trust others to see us clearly, and reflect back to us what they see, when we ourselves are not doing such a good job.
We need to clean up our internal self-judgments that get in the way of clear self-seeing. This goes back to my first blog post— judgement, criticism, and comparison do not help us when we look in the mirror. These thoughts distort the the truth, distort our true beauty— and our appreciation of that beauty— and create body dysmorphia.
If only we could spray a little windex (or vinegar and water!) on our own perception, we could do a lot to clean up our own story… and our culture’s body-dysmorphic thinking.
May we all continue to learn to love our bodies as they are, and as they were created.
Ducit Amore 