Lessons of Life

                    

Coming from a poor family and coming from an abusive childhood, body image was not one of my priorities. It's hard to remember when body image became important to me.

When we would visit Mexico, we would go to the movies, because it was very inexpensive, but I cannot remember any movie that had a big impact on me. 

The first time I ever saw a magazine was when my mother's employer had given them to her. Betsy McCall was not a Barbie, but she had pretty clothes. And then, there was Seventeen Magazine with pictures of Christie Brinkley on every cover. When you are abused, it is hard to picture your life any different, but what impressed me most about Christie was the fresh look of her face. Everybody's beauty secret was Noxema, but my beauty secret for 50 years was Zest, never going to sleep with makeup on, and washing my face twice a day. It wasnt until I turned 50 that I decided I needed to start using creams on my face, but people always think I am in my early 30s.

They have been playing the following song on the radio a lot. I remember hearing it on the radio when it first came out, but it seems that it has taken me this long to finally pay attention to the words. The lyrics are so sad but so true to life...

AT SEVENTEEN (Janis Ian)

I learned the truth at seventeen
that love was meant for beauty queens
and high school girls with clear skinned smiles
who married young and then retired.
The valentines I never knew,
the friday night charades of youth
were spent on one more beautiful
at seventeen, I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces,
lacking in the social graces
desperately remained at home
inventing lovers on the phone.
Who called to say, "Come dance with me"
and murmured vague obscenities.
It isnt all it seems at seventeen.

A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
whose name I never could pronounce
said, "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve
The rich relationed hometown queen
marries into what whe needs
with a guarantee of company
and haven for the elderly.

So remember those who win the game
lose the love they sought to gain
in debentures of quality and dubious integrity
Thir small town eyes will gape at you
in dull surprise when payment due
exceeds accounts received at seventten.

(Instrumental)

To those of us who knew the pain
of Valentines that never came
and those whose names were never called
when choosing sides for basketball
it was long ago and far away
The world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me.

We all play the game and when we dare
we cheat ourselves at solitaire
inventing lovers on the phone
repenting other lives unknown
that call and say, "Come dance with me."
and murmur vague obscenities
at ugly girls like me, at seventeen.

Childhood can be a difficult time, but when you have been abused, it is hard to see yourself as pretty. I think I was pretty, because I do not know of anyone who would want to sexually abuse a child who is not pretty. It would have been nice if I had had a mother who was loving and supportive, but my childhood and my adulthood have been more about survival than about trying to look pretty.

When did it happen? When did I first want to be pretty? I remember Mally catching me trying to hide my shame by dressing in the bathroom stall instead of out in the open like the other kids did. She seemed shocked that I had a figure. Why do you hide it? she asked. Look, you have a waist. And yet, I continued to hide it with baggy clothes. I didnt want anyone to know.

The popular girls had it all, or so I thought. I never dreamed of having what they had. I was never jealous of what they had. I just figured that it was my fate to be without. To them, love and boyfriends were important, but all I wanted was to go somewhere far, far away.. somewhere where there is no abuse, no matter how hard I had to work. But moving to another place was not the answer. It was only geography, because abuse followed me into my adulthood.

When I was at college, I walked everywhere and running helped to release my thoughts. I didnt expect it to make my body beautiful. The high I got from running was the remedy I needed to survive the stresses of my days. After my divorce, I went back to running, but dancing also became a part of my life for the one year before my car accident. Unfortunately, my dancing partner went country, so I left dancing behind. The car accident left me with breaking almost every bone in my body and my health began to deteriorate, so I went back to lifting weights to strengthen my body. The times I have lost weight, I have returned to jogging, but when I fell in 2003, my body and my joints could not longer support the hard impact and gravity is no longer my friend. Although I want to walk, my body continues to fight me, because the pain from the herniated disks in my lower back and my hip make it too difficult. When will my body regenerate itself?

Because jogging and walking were a positive part of my life, it makes sense that a sweatsuit has become a permanent part of my wardrobe. As a young mother, friends would laugh that I was always in jogging clothes, but they admired me for working so hard at taking care of my body instead of looking to some other vice to work through my stress. People remember me as "always jogging," but one man remembers me as doing something "very athletic." To my surprise, what he meant was when I went dancing. People noticed me when I danced, because I had a dancing partner and we danced well together, but the dancing was short lived. Just the other day, my daughter got after me because she always sees me in sweatclothes. But to me, the sweatsuit is a good thing. It is an unconscious step of the failure I still have to accomplish.

What happened to the vibrant, vivacious woman who could do anything and was never afraid of anything?! Coming to the Valley has changed me. It is a harsh truth to face that I have crawled back into The Glass Box and that I have allowed myself to become a prisoner within the walls of glass. As I continue to live in fear, I sometimes wonder if I will ever break through the glass. I have saved the lives of so many people, why cant I do the same for myself?

                   

This is Christie Brinkley at age 51. She is only six months younger than I. Although she has gained weight, they label her new look as "athletic." Does that mean I am now athletic?! Unlike the prima ballerinas I do have more muscle than most. Christie is still pretty, but she doesnt have the 24 inch waistline she had before. I wonder if she ever has problems getting motivated to stay in shape. To me, she looks as if she is happy "just as she is."

I dont want to look like a stick, but I do want to be healthy and strong. When I think back, it wasnt a man who motivated me to lose weight. It was for me. I wanted to be healthy and I still do. I read other people's journals, and I see how motivated they are to work on their weightloss goals. I used to be so motivated. How do I get to that place again?