The Ugliness of Beauty

I’ve had a consistent and unfilled New Year’s resolution for more than a decade. I don’t know the exact age when it first found its way into one of my many journals. I believe it was somewhere around 12. Despite varied phrasing it always comes out reading something like: Lose weight. I truly believe that at certain points in my life I was utterly convinced that this was my personal key to looking beautiful and therefore the key to my happiness.  Growing up I never gave much thought to how kind I was or how intelligent. Not because these things were unimportant or ranked below beauty, rather I felt secure in these areas. I had a report card every few months to remind me that I was smart. I had a myriad of yearbook tributes to tell me I was kind. Yet nothing in my life gave me any indication that I was in fact beautiful.

For about six months when I was 15 I finally did it. I reached my New Year’s resolution. Rather than reveling in my success and feeling satisfied and finally secure I felt unfulfilled. My memory is a little hazy on my exact feelings but I certainly have no recollection of ever feeling beautiful. I do clearly remember that the number on the scale dominated my thoughts much more than I ever wanted to admit.

I have no intention of focusing on my body image issues past or present. I merely want to explore a phenomenon in our society: the quest for beauty. What has heretofore been mentioned is only one small fraction of my own personal “quest” (I hope the use of such a lofty word comes out satirical rather than reverent). It has manifested itself in many forms over many years. At different phases of my life it has taken on different shapes yet all utter the same deafening whisper, “You are not enough.”

What really lies behind the quest for beauty is a desperate need for acceptance. (I would like to take a moment to differentiate between looking beautiful and feeling beautiful. For in one we see self-loathing and the other self-love. Looking beautiful, which is the goal of the quest, is about others and more specifically their approval. Feeling is about you.) Trailing behind beauty we often find the words attractiveness, desirability, confidence, and even worth. Unfortunately someone somewhere decided to pin these rather significant and unrelated qualities to a rather useless and shallow idea. The more I live the more I am utterly convinced that attractiveness has little to do with beauty. Moreover, I have no doubt that worth and beauty do not even belong in the same sentence.

I don’t know who started the Great Lie. I don’t know who first convinced another human being that his or her worth was related to appearance. I imagine monetary gain was somehow involved in its conception and spreading. Yet the greatest mystery of all is that we have perpetuated it. We have fed it, pampered it, and coddled it. Worse still we have let it turn us against each other. I cannot speak for men because I am a woman. More and more I am convinced this is not solely a female issue, however my own limited experience demands I speak only about what I have observed, and participated in, among my own gender. How many times have we commented on each other’s hairstyles, make up, fashion choices, and weight? Who cares what she looks like? Who cares what you look like? Who cares what I look like? Why won’t we let the Great Lie die? I think it’s because we believe it. I know I have spent countless hours fixated on my flaws.  In a pathetic attempt to make myself feel better I have taken comfort in reminding myself that I am not the most unfortunate looking creature on the planet. Fantastic. Nothing like a big fat helping of comparison to make the world a better place.

Rather than uniting in the bond of sisterhood to combat the Great Lie we, as women, have lied down and let ourselves become submerged in a deluge of septic runoff. Let us wipe the sewage out of our eyes. We. Are. Worth. It. The things that make humanity great are empathy, compassion, ingenuity, humor, intelligence, vulnerability (thank you Brene Brown), creativity, and love. Strangely and might I say beautifully none of these attributes are remotely visible. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder; I’d like to argue that beauty is in the soul of the beholder.

Perhaps a shift from looking to feeling would finally absolve us of our persecution of one another and more significantly of ourselves. Feel good. That should be the objective. If a Star Wars t-shirt, faded shorts, flip-flops, and a French braid make you feel worth it, then so be it! (Yes, that is my ideal outfit) I have felt guilty my whole life for loving graphic tees, for having love handles, and for hating how foundation feels on my skin. Set the guilt free, cut off the expectations, bid the comparisons farewell and perhaps we will find our compassion. Most importantly our self-compassion. Perhaps next year on my New Year’s resolution list the first thing that comes to mind will be something worthwhile like “be vulnerable in relationships” or even “learn to play the harmonica”…

Children Are Like Cows

I vividly remember one of my professors boldly proclaiming, “Children are like cows…” When you put a herd of cattle into a new enclosure the ever-persistent bovine will walk the entirety of the fence in search of weakness. They will push along every inch of the fence looking for the one poorly nailed board that will allow their escape. This analogy was used to illustrate the experience every teacher goes through the first few weeks of school, and substitutes experience every day. Children will test the limits to find where the boundaries lie. Signs of weakness will be exploited, sweet escape and freedom will be sought. At least this is what I used to believe about children…

Over the summer I attended a play therapy class taught by a dear friend. She discussed a similar phenomenon in the play therapy room. A child will test the limits and find the boundaries. Upon entering the play therapy room he or she might knock toys off the shelf, scream, swear, scribble, etc. However, the quest for the limit or boundary line is about much more than I believed.  Sometimes children are so wrapped in having fun they unknowingly cross a limit. There is no malicious intent in the misbehavior. They are just kids and hopping the fence looks like fun. (I can think of a quiet a few students who fit this description.) Other times, testing limits is a desperate plea, longing to know, “Will you still love me when I act like this?” A child’s eyes will hauntingly ask,  “At what point will you cast me off? When will you decide I am no long ‘worth it’? Will you leave me or hate me when I am no longer perfect? What is the limit of your love?”

There is a little boy in my class who tends to try my patience. He regularly pushes my buttons and forcibly rams against every limit that I have erected. Most days feel like a battle. I often wearily trudge home feeling frustrated, tired, and utterly at a loss as to how to help this kid.  I do not presume to understand the motivation behind his behaviors however I have seen a small sparkle of something very familiar. All the while he is pushing and shoving against my fences, sometimes screaming (literally), his bright blue eyes are desperately demanding, “DO YOU STILL LOVE ME?”

One day I reached my limit.  I turned to him and rather curtly proclaimed, “I am very frustrated with your behavior. I love you. I care about you. But it makes it hard for me to teach when you act like this.” (The words that came out of my mouth were a very mild and kind version of the expletives dancing in my head.) The next day he came to school in an uncharacteristically happy mood. While writing in his journal he wrote, “I like my teacher. She is nice. She loves me. I like her.” An overwhelming wave of chagrin washed over me.  I have little doubt that this boy pushes buttons wherever he goes. However, somewhere in the depths of his soul he, rather like me, just wants to be loved. He just wants to know that even when he is being a hellion that he is still of worth. His actions do not define him. His soul is not tarnished, his worth not diminished, his value not lessened.

I would like to write that I react firmly with love, patience, understanding, and well-set boundaries every time he misbehaves. Unfortunately, and perhaps fortunately, I am quite flawed and often less than benevolent in my thoughts and actions. Luckily, there is one who does not suffer from such human impatience. At His feet I find myself in the place of this little boy.

Over the course of the past year my relationship with God has altered drastically. My perceptions of His nature and of myself have evolved and grown. Throughout this journey I have often found myself unknowing testing limits in various areas of my life. I have never sought to be rebellious or willfully disobedient. Yet I often find myself in uncharted waters. I have left the confines of the “No Wake” zone. While bobbing along I, as of late, have frequently found myself questioning my position and behavior.  Sometimes humbly and other times with the desperation of a vulnerable, pleading child I look skyward and ask, “Will you still love me when I act like this? At what point will you cast me off? When will you decide I am no long ‘worth it’? Will you leave me or hate me when I am no longer perfect? What is the limit of your love?”

            In these moments my soul often feels wracked with the violence of a fierce storm the answer always seems to come with the gentleness of a warm breeze. In a soft, caressing whisper I hear His quiet reply, “Yes, my child. I still love you. I will always love you. Your worth to me is not measured by your position, behavior, or even choices. No matter what you do, you will always be worth the same amount. The life of my Son.  What you do will determine your happiness but will never affect my love. You are mine.”

            Children may act like cows and adults may act like children. At the heart of it, regardless of how we may act we are still worthy of love. I think boundaries and limits are critically important but imperfection on our part and falling short does not diminish our worth. Though some people in our lives may grow impatient and or leave when we test the limits there will always be One who’s love is unending and has no limit. 

A Blank Canvas

Every time I oil paint I seem to make a huge mess. Luckily most of the paint (that doesn't quite make it to the canvas) ends up on the well placed drop cloth. However, I often find it on the floor, the chair I was sitting on, and without fail I find it all over my arms and legs. Sometimes while I am scrubbing paint from underneath my fingernails I find myself frustrated and annoyed. Yet, without the mess I would never achieve a beautiful creation. Mess is a part of art and more importantly a part of life. I am starting this blog to celebrate the mess that is life. I want to find the beauty in the process of creation. Here I hope to share some of the things I am learning in the process of living my life and covering my blank canvas.