The Woman I Am
by Jaymie Stuart Wolfe
and Kathryn Hermes, FSP
- Making Choices
- Who am I really?
- I deserve love
- Who shall I be?
- Living Life
- Finding freedom
- So much has changed
- Simple choices for health and beauty
- Looking Back
- Menopause and loss
- Fully accepting "me"
- What makes me who I am?
Title
Sure, my mom told me about getting your period, and how to use feminine hygiene products. She told me about sex and marriage, too. She talked, and teachers talked, and friends talked. But you know what? I don't think they had a clue, and worse, I'm not sure I did either.
I've made choices, and the fact that my decisions were made with so little information scares me. There is so much more to learn about my body, so much I don't know about myself even though I've been living in this skin from the start. I'm a woman, right? I know how I work, don't I? But if someone told me I could break the code and understand who I really am, I'd listen. I'd want to know.
I'm tired of people telling me I have a pretty face when it's obvious that pretty faces aren't enough. I'm sick of trying on clothes and buying them because they "don't look too bad." Just how thin do you have to be to get a guy to notice you? If I lost everything overnight I'd still be the same person.
At least if I stay this way I can chalk it up to the culture, to society, to guys being guys, and not have to think about anything deeper. But is the attention skinny girls get what I really want? Is that what real love looks like? I wonder what would happen if I held my head up a bit higher, and smiled a little more, and let the world know that I'm me regardless, and I deserve to be loved.
Everywhere I turn I see ads that sing, "buy me, buy me, and someone will love you." Commercials, billboards, signs in store windows, magazine ads, even the little pop ups when I'm on the web. I can't escape the message. I look at a child and my heart is so full of wonder at how God has created us. But I look in the mirror and feel more and more depressed that I don't measure up. I try to keep out the jeering tune: "No one will want you. No one will want you." I don't wear a size 0. My complexion isn't perfect. My wardrobe is full of clothes that conceal the parts of my body I don't like. I hate myself because I can't succeed at dieting, as if anybody really can.
What would happen if I determined the qualities of a beautiful woman and day after day I chose to cultivate them in my own life? A compassionate heart. Integrity of life. A listening soul. Meaningful conversation. Sharing and giving, caring and loving others. The capacity to make the world around me beautiful, from plants and pets to cooking and painting. I can't avoid running into the media's trap. I do, however, have the power to step over it, walk away, and live my own life.
The first six months after her birth were a blur. I wasn't prepared to deal with two kids under two. Exhausted, trapped, and overwhelmed: I was a mess. It was really easy to come to the conclusion that two children were definitely enough - maybe more than enough - for me.
In time, things calmed down and so did I. So after four years of successfully avoiding pregnancy, I changed my mind and decided to have another child. Within a few weeks I was expecting again. Then I lost the baby.
That loss rocked my whole world. The child I had wanted and planned was gone. Suddenly, I realized that I had been living life as if I were the one in charge. But I was not in control, and never had been. Would I find peace if I let go and believed that my family isn't what comes out of the oven when I mix up the right ingredients? If I stopped treating my body like a machine I can control by flipping a switch on or off, would I be free?
I don't look the way I did in the wedding picture that hangs on the wall of our bedroom any more, and I don't act like the college student I was when we met. So much has changed. Sure, I've gained more than just extra weight along the way: experience, maybe even a little wisdom. But I wonder what my husband sees when he looks at me now. The spark of whatever attracted him in the first place? I hope so...
Ever notice how even old, fat, bald and dumpy men have beautiful young women on their arms? But you never see it the other way around: an ugly woman with a gorgeous guy at her side.
When I walk through the drug store I see my worst doubts and fears made into creams and lotions; packaged in pretty bottles and jars. I flip on the radio in the car and hear cosmetic surgery ads. This doctor, that doctor - I never knew there were so many kinds of liposuction! Yes, I want to look my best. But what if my best isn't good enough for him? How could it still be good enough for me?
Faster and faster my world seems to be spinning. More and more things to do; less and less time to do them. I watch the birds soar in the sky and long for a day when I could stretch my wings and be lifted above the chaos of life. Birds are so simple. They live lavishly without worry. Live just as they are. Perhaps that is the key: simplicity, loving what is, loving what I have been gifted to be. A self-accepting love would make me creative about my own way of being...
I don't have the time, the money, the energy, the initiative for expensive "fix-its" for the damage stress and hurry do to my body and spirit. Gyms, expensive diets, pills, and shakes ...No. Simple choices are all I need to live healthily - even lavishly. Clear out the junk food from the cupboards. Drink more water. Partner with someone to take walks in free museums, parks, or just around the neighborhood. Dance and play with my kids. A bubble bath and evening movie at home. Time to read. Inner space to process what I'm living. I embrace simple ways to lift myself above the fray, and soar with the freedom, trust, and beauty of the birds.
As I approach menopause, I face a lot of losses: my body sags, my health declines, the window of my fertility is closing. I have to relinquish some of my dreams, while others have been broken with the passage of time. Loved ones have walked away or died. Without realizing it I get caught up in gimmicks to grab hold of what seems to be slipping through my fingers: health, beauty, love, security, even people. What's beneath my anxiety?
I long for eternal youth, fresh beginnings, the assurance that I will be okay as my strength declines. I want to keep what I have, thinking that's all that there is...and now it's almost gone. What would my life be like if I looked forward instead of regretting what I'm losing, if I lived in expectation of the joy of living eternally? Isn't that what I really want? To never end...
I smile when I see a photo of my husband or mom, and don't notice the extra pounds or signs of aging. I just see someone I love. But when anyone wants to take my picture, I wince inside. Sure, I've always been a bit camera shy. But now I find myself wishing that I still looked liked I did in photographs I never even liked! The truth is that I'm not just unhappy with what my body is like now. I've always felt that way. Even though I think I have a lot to offer, even though I'm confident in so many other ways, I guess I haven't fully accepted the "me" that I can see. I'm not exactly sure how to get there, but I wonder what it would be like to someday look into a full length mirror and simply see someone who is loved - someone I love.
Yesterday I caught myself telling stories again. You know, what I mean. They aren't lies, but they aren't the truth either. I was spinning a tale of how I had made a mistake in having too few children, and now it was too late to do anything about it. Women facing menopause tell lots of stories as they reflect on their lives. We spin stories of what could have been or sometimes we tell the still harsher stories of what "should" have been. If I had just finished college before marriage. If I had found the right guy. If we had moved to another state. If we hadn't used birth control. If I had taken the other job offer. If we had bought a smaller house. If we had spent more time together. If I hadn't become a nun...
We needn't feel bad about these stories, but simply notice that they are there and stop telling them. What has happened has happened. The choices that were made were the choices we made to the best of our ability with the knowledge we had when we made them. Some were mistakes. Some seemed to be disasters but led to an unexpected gift. Some were true acts of grace. All of them have made me who I am today.
Copyright 2012 Daughters of St. Paul
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