I don't know how it is for men, but I know women find it difficult to love or even appreciate their bodies. It's been an annoyance of mine since I was a child, hearing other women and girls complain about their thighs, breasts, stomachs or butts. I've never been a skinny girl (with the exception of a brief period between 20 and 23 when I was still too self-conscious to realize it) and when I would hear my (skinnier) friends complain about their bodies, it made me feel as though mine must be repulsive. Because really, if they were finding fault with their non-existent bellies, how must they think of my existent stomach?
Now at 26, I talk more openly about my friends about our respective body images and I realize that my insecurities were really, for the most part, my own. Others don't see me the way I see myself, just as my friends don't view their bodies as I view them.
I still struggle with body image. I don't like the weight I've gained since cancer treatment and menopause, I hate the large crooked scars which mark my body (I am not blessed with a body which heals well), and more than anything, I hate how my body has let me down.
It's hard enough coming to terms with a body which is healthy, though not aesthetically perfect (to ones mind). It's even harder coming to terms with a body which has literally turned on itself.
When talking with a colleague last week about my experience with a cancer which has left me sterile, he said that it must have been very hard for me to face as a young woman, and that I must be very angry about it. I agreed. It was actually one of the more insightful comments I've heard from someone who has just learned about that part of my life. Yes, I told him, I do get angry. But I countered that I try not to get angry too often. Because I can only be angry with my body, and that's an uncomfortable place to live.
I don't know if I believe in God, and if I do, I don't believe in a God who controls and punishes, so I can't be angry at God. Instead, I am angry with the organs and cells which failed me so miserably long before they ever should have. Sometimes I'm so frustrated with my body that I literally scream at it. Sometimes when I'm particularly angry, I want to hit myself. Maybe I have a few times, but I try not to get to that place.
I didn't touch my stomach for at least six months after my surgery. The first time I did, it was lying in bed with my boyfriend. We had just made love, and he was sleeping, and I pushed down on my tummy. All over. And it was so empty -- I could feel the emptiness, and I cried and cried and bit my lip and called my stomach stupid as though it were a willing and sentient being which had acted against me . Stupid stupid stupid. I felt sick and wanted to throw up, so I stopped touching that empty area and just cursed it.
Before surgery I would lie in the bathtub with my hands cupped over my abdomen pleading with it to be okay. Alternately, I would bargain . Leave me one ovary. Or if not that, leave me my uterus. At least let me keep my uterus. My pleading was useless, as you all know. But I tried. I really tried. I bargained with my body, and I guess in a sense I won -- I am, after all, still alive.
I want to not hate my body, it is tiresome and exhausting, but it's hard not to. On a good day, I just forget my body exists. On a really good day, I am amazed by it. I wish I had more really good days.
I miss getting my period. I forget what that felt like. I miss feeling my body cycle through hormones, I miss sore breasts and mood swings. All those things you're told you won't miss. I miss them. I miss pregnancy scares and PMS and borrowing tampons. I miss the belief that my body could serve as a vessel for a life other than my own. But mostly, I miss not being angry at my body.
Because how do you deal with being angry at yourself for something you have no control over?
I don't know how it is for men, but I know women find it difficult to love or even appreciate their bodies. It's been an annoyance of mine since I was a child, hearing other women and girls complain about their thighs, breasts, stomachs or butts. I've never been a skinny girl (with the exception of a brief period between 20 and 23 when I was still too self-conscious to realize it) and when I would hear my (skinnier) friends complain about their bodies, it made me feel as though mine must be repulsive. Because really, if they were finding fault with their non-existent bellies, how must they think of my existent stomach?
Now at 26, I talk more openly about my friends about our respective body images and I realize that my insecurities were really, for the most part, my own. Others don't see me the way I see myself, just as my friends don't view their bodies as I view them.
I still struggle with body image. I don't like the weight I've gained since cancer treatment and menopause, I hate the large crooked scars which mark my body (I am not blessed with a body which heals well), and more than anything, I hate how my body has let me down.
It's hard enough coming to terms with a body which is healthy, though not aesthetically perfect (to ones mind). It's even harder coming to terms with a body which has literally turned on itself.
When talking with a colleague last week about my experience with a cancer which has left me sterile, he said that it must have been very hard for me to face as a young woman, and that I must be very angry about it. I agreed. It was actually one of the more insightful comments I've heard from someone who has just learned about that part of my life. Yes, I told him, I do get angry. But I countered that I try not to get angry too often. Because I can only be angry with my body, and that's an uncomfortable place to live.
I don't know if I believe in God, and if I do, I don't believe in a God who controls and punishes, so I can't be angry at God. Instead, I am angry with the organs and cells which failed me so miserably long before they ever should have. Sometimes I'm so frustrated with my body that I literally scream at it. Sometimes when I'm particularly angry, I want to hit myself. Maybe I have a few times, but I try not to get to that place.
I didn't touch my stomach for at least six months after my surgery. The first time I did, it was lying in bed with my boyfriend. We had just made love, and he was sleeping, and I pushed down on my tummy. All over. And it was so empty -- I could feel the emptiness, and I cried and cried and bit my lip and called my stomach stupid as though it were a willing and sentient being which had acted against me . Stupid stupid stupid. I felt sick and wanted to throw up, so I stopped touching that empty area and just cursed it.
Before surgery I would lie in the bathtub with my hands cupped over my abdomen pleading with it to be okay. Alternately, I would bargain . Leave me one ovary. Or if not that, leave me my uterus. At least let me keep my uterus. My pleading was useless, as you all know. But I tried. I really tried. I bargained with my body, and I guess in a sense I won -- I am, after all, still alive.
I want to not hate my body, it is tiresome and exhausting, but it's hard not to. On a good day, I just forget my body exists. On a really good day, I am amazed by it. I wish I had more really good days.
I miss getting my period. I forget what that felt like. I miss feeling my body cycle through hormones, I miss sore breasts and mood swings. All those things you're told you won't miss. I miss them. I miss pregnancy scares and PMS and borrowing tampons. I miss the belief that my body could serve as a vessel for a life other than my own. But mostly, I miss not being angry at my body.
Because how do you deal with being angry at yourself for something you have no control over?