Tuesday, March 12, 2013

My inner dork.

Yes, she's there, hiding herself among the folds of life-fabric I attempt to weave: that I am  super-cool, amazing, brilliant and beautiful, and these things would make you want to hang out with me.

My inner dork showed herself radiantly this morning as I got ready for my book club. I was going back and forth between my bathroom and my closet, trying to find an outfit that a) didn't make my tush look big, b) didn't make my thighs look big, c) didn't make my midsection look big, d) did make my bust look big, and e) didn't make me look pasty. (FYI, no such outfit exists.) I was examining each item of clothing carefully, seeing if it meets all of the above criteria, when I heard music. My heart literally skipped a beat as I thought, Is there music? Where is that music coming from? IS THERE SOMEONE IN MY HOUSE?

Um, no. That would be the music I turned on only 15 minutes prior to going to get ready. And who thinks that someone is in their house and that person's sole intention is to play music anyway? Really? Can you imagine? Today I believe I am going to break and enter this house and play music. {Sigh}. Sometimes there are no words.

But if there were words, shenanigans would come to mind. So would ballyhoo.

This isn't the only time my mind believes an untruth. I've believed for many, many years that the only way that I could be beautiful was to be thin, and I have been at war with my body and my food ever since I first decided to diet and control my way to beauty.

I think she's saying Don't do it!

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been contemplating a question I read in the book Captivating by John and Stasi Eldredge: What if you have a genuine and captivating beauty that is marred only by your very own striving?

What if?

What if everything I have believed about myself just isn't true?

Is it possible that my inner beauty could then shine, and I could at last be free from the chains of self-loathing, disgust, and hate? That I could be at peace with who I am instead of constantly striving to be that picture from a magazine?


The war would be over. Food would again be a source of energy instead of my mortal enemy. Maybe even an occasional source of pleasure.

It doesn't even sound right to my war-torn ears. Food? Pleasure? For years I've had a I-hate-you-because-I-have-to-have-you-but-I-would-give-you-up-in-a-hot-millisecond-if-I-could type relationship with my food.

To think any differently seems like a bunch of ballyhoo to me.

Or maybe I'm the one with the wrong idea.


In the words of the therapist from Good Will Hunting:

No more shenanigans.
No more tomfoolery.
No more ballyhoo.

It's time to declare peace and enjoy life.

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