Personal Post: Body Talk
Right now, while I still have the gumption to do so, I want to own up to the things that are bothering me, in all of their dark, terrible, heart-wide-open detail.
I'm realizing my body image issues are a serious source of discontent for me. On the one hand, I'm still not recovered from Sephie's birth. There are still times where I can't sit down for long periods of time, or will experience painful spasms from out of nowhere that take my breath away. I did have this issue looked at, but was told really my options are time, or injections of something like Botox to numb the area. Not much in the way of choice, huh?
But I've always seen myself as a sexual person. I went through something of a sexual awakening during the first half of my relationship with B, coming into my own identity and learning what it meant to indulge the parts of me I thought inaccessible. Yet even before then, I should own up to having always been invested in the value of my body, and infusing my worth with how attractive others found me. So I always had that going for me (somewhat paradoxically, I'll admit; since most of my early years were marked by people telling me I was both fat and ugly) to get me through the moments of wondering if there were anything to me at all.
And, of course, the final piece of the puzzle is my lifelong struggle with eating disordered behavior, which has, at different points in time in the past, found fruition as bulimia. Some years have been worse than others. My eating disorder never reached the point where I needed to be hospitalized for it, but there have been periods where I've engaged in it several times a day for weeks at a time. Some years, it's been so quiet I can't remember the last time I purged. But I still struggle with bingeing, occasionally; a struggle dotted by a complex association of guilt, particularly with junk food.
So, these three issues are all linked to a pervasively troubled body image. It's a gift I somewhat inherited from my mother. She was hypercritical of weight, of food. I don't often remember her eating, except pasta and salad. She'd cook for us, and she would insist we clean every inch of our plates to get excused from the table.
I don't like the reactions I'm having in my body, as I type these words. I don't like the tension that's building in my back and shoulders and the urge I have to hide. I don't want to uncap this bottle of emotion, of memories that a decade ago wouldn't have struck me on any deeper level as disturbing. It makes me have a very real need to shut my mind off, to bury these memories in caverns too deep for fingers.
I wonder how much of these issues are supercharged by having been sexually abused. My therapist once told me that the way I dressed, rather provocatively at times, suggested a history of sexual molestation, long before I ever felt ready to deal with the memory. It had become so ingrained in my routine, I didn't notice, but it makes sense, and I was filled with a deep sense of shame over it when we had the conversation, the context of which escapes me at the moment.
I understand it's common, but damn, I was frigid through out high school and my marriage to Richard. I was chaste and prudish in high school; even my "wild streak" in the four months it took for me to transition from Steve to Richard was relatively tame. It makes me almost laugh now about the sessions I had with my shrink back then, the first I tried EMDR with, who spent more than a few sessions trying to help me get comfortable with sexual relations with Richard. In hindsight, it was a bad idea to go to a male therapist while in the height of my PTSD, but I find it bitterly humorous because the reality is, sex with Richard wasn't the problem with my first marriage; being married to Richard was the problem with my first marriage.
Now, I feel more grounded sexually, but I miss the sexual aspect of myself. Some of my Fem peers would say I'm mourning the loss of the maiden and the objectification that comes with that, and they may be right that the transition from maiden to mother isn't exactly fulfilling of some of my baser needs. I still want to be seen on my terms of sexuality, and I feel I'm limited from doing that fully.
Part of that is also because I'm buying into these bullshit beauty standards designed to punish all women. I get depressed that I'm not rocking a body that would grace the cover of any beauty magazine. I have the worst luck when it comes to applying mascara and I can't paint my nails worth a damn and I don't always feel up to paying someone to do it for me. I believe if I were happier with my body, I'd be happier in life over all.
And I'm punishing B for the way my body has reacted to childbirth. I'm using that as an excuse to desperately want to be re-validated as a being worthy of being described as "sexy". It's projection of guilt, more than anything, and insecurities. I know that logically but emotionally, I'm resentful. I want to be seen and treated as sexy and desirable, even though I at times resent B doing exactly that.
Honestly, I think if I could get my anxiety under control, that would help disengage some of the negative tapes I've been playing non-stop lately. Until then, I think I just need to keep trying some breathing exercises or something. It would also be great if I could stop fixating on death.
It also occurs to me that Sephie is now ten months old. I'm flying home tomorrow, but will try to find the time to update about her stats in the next day or so.
I'm realizing my body image issues are a serious source of discontent for me. On the one hand, I'm still not recovered from Sephie's birth. There are still times where I can't sit down for long periods of time, or will experience painful spasms from out of nowhere that take my breath away. I did have this issue looked at, but was told really my options are time, or injections of something like Botox to numb the area. Not much in the way of choice, huh?
But I've always seen myself as a sexual person. I went through something of a sexual awakening during the first half of my relationship with B, coming into my own identity and learning what it meant to indulge the parts of me I thought inaccessible. Yet even before then, I should own up to having always been invested in the value of my body, and infusing my worth with how attractive others found me. So I always had that going for me (somewhat paradoxically, I'll admit; since most of my early years were marked by people telling me I was both fat and ugly) to get me through the moments of wondering if there were anything to me at all.
And, of course, the final piece of the puzzle is my lifelong struggle with eating disordered behavior, which has, at different points in time in the past, found fruition as bulimia. Some years have been worse than others. My eating disorder never reached the point where I needed to be hospitalized for it, but there have been periods where I've engaged in it several times a day for weeks at a time. Some years, it's been so quiet I can't remember the last time I purged. But I still struggle with bingeing, occasionally; a struggle dotted by a complex association of guilt, particularly with junk food.
So, these three issues are all linked to a pervasively troubled body image. It's a gift I somewhat inherited from my mother. She was hypercritical of weight, of food. I don't often remember her eating, except pasta and salad. She'd cook for us, and she would insist we clean every inch of our plates to get excused from the table.
I don't like the reactions I'm having in my body, as I type these words. I don't like the tension that's building in my back and shoulders and the urge I have to hide. I don't want to uncap this bottle of emotion, of memories that a decade ago wouldn't have struck me on any deeper level as disturbing. It makes me have a very real need to shut my mind off, to bury these memories in caverns too deep for fingers.
I wonder how much of these issues are supercharged by having been sexually abused. My therapist once told me that the way I dressed, rather provocatively at times, suggested a history of sexual molestation, long before I ever felt ready to deal with the memory. It had become so ingrained in my routine, I didn't notice, but it makes sense, and I was filled with a deep sense of shame over it when we had the conversation, the context of which escapes me at the moment.
I understand it's common, but damn, I was frigid through out high school and my marriage to Richard. I was chaste and prudish in high school; even my "wild streak" in the four months it took for me to transition from Steve to Richard was relatively tame. It makes me almost laugh now about the sessions I had with my shrink back then, the first I tried EMDR with, who spent more than a few sessions trying to help me get comfortable with sexual relations with Richard. In hindsight, it was a bad idea to go to a male therapist while in the height of my PTSD, but I find it bitterly humorous because the reality is, sex with Richard wasn't the problem with my first marriage; being married to Richard was the problem with my first marriage.
Now, I feel more grounded sexually, but I miss the sexual aspect of myself. Some of my Fem peers would say I'm mourning the loss of the maiden and the objectification that comes with that, and they may be right that the transition from maiden to mother isn't exactly fulfilling of some of my baser needs. I still want to be seen on my terms of sexuality, and I feel I'm limited from doing that fully.
Part of that is also because I'm buying into these bullshit beauty standards designed to punish all women. I get depressed that I'm not rocking a body that would grace the cover of any beauty magazine. I have the worst luck when it comes to applying mascara and I can't paint my nails worth a damn and I don't always feel up to paying someone to do it for me. I believe if I were happier with my body, I'd be happier in life over all.
And I'm punishing B for the way my body has reacted to childbirth. I'm using that as an excuse to desperately want to be re-validated as a being worthy of being described as "sexy". It's projection of guilt, more than anything, and insecurities. I know that logically but emotionally, I'm resentful. I want to be seen and treated as sexy and desirable, even though I at times resent B doing exactly that.
Honestly, I think if I could get my anxiety under control, that would help disengage some of the negative tapes I've been playing non-stop lately. Until then, I think I just need to keep trying some breathing exercises or something. It would also be great if I could stop fixating on death.
It also occurs to me that Sephie is now ten months old. I'm flying home tomorrow, but will try to find the time to update about her stats in the next day or so.