I must admit that I grew up as a vain person. I don't know where, or how, it started but I cannot remember a time when I was not at least a little obsessed with my appearance. I have run the gamut from being thin, maybe beautiful, to being fat and invisible; I have relied on my looks to avoid trouble and get what I wanted, and I have struggled to adapt to using my mind when my body failed. I have been both the girl that sits judging who is suitable to wear what skirt length and the one who has felt the burn of humiliation when hearing that I have been found to be "too fat" for that dress. And I have spent nearly a decade grappling with my passion for photographing beautiful women, exclusively fashion, and my distaste for an industry that hates my body-- tells me to hide myself away.
In St. Louis I imagined that this was just the way of life, that society judged you based on your size, your car, the labels you display. In St. Louis I believed that my only hope of fitting in resided in my ability to fit in to clothing from the right designers. That the only way to attract a desirable man was to have a "smokin' hot" body to go along with my "pretty face."
And it was, in many ways, true. In St. Louis I had more friends, more opportunities, more positive attention, and more potential for success when I was thin. As a thin woman I could find a job in an hour or less. I had the attention of most single men, and the ability to excite and influence the people around me with my ideas. In St. Louis, when "fat," I was invisible among a crowd. People felt free to discuss my anatomy and figure flaws within my hearing distance. Men treated me like "one of the guys" and I was an a-sexual entity in their eyes. Looking back, I am not at all surprised at how shy and reclusive I became as a fat woman... it was an understandable response to a world that was ashamed of me.
Strangely enough, the place that is often lauded as being the most shallow and materialistic is where I've found out that looks don't have to matter. Perhaps it is the special quality of Silicon Valley; the intense concentration of intellect and intellectually focused people. Perhaps it is the natural beauty that so lushly surrounds our days, the amazing variety of ethnicities and cultures, the liberal/progressive mindset, or just the mild climate that encourages us to relax... For whatever reason, Southbay is nothing like the St. Louis I came from.
Having spent a bit over 1/2 a year here has changed me quite a lot. I no longer feel awkward and unattractive every time I leave the house. I no longer hear anyone make comments about how pretty I could be "if only I lost wieght." I no longer get pitying and condescending looks from strangers and I am no longer an outcast for my looks or invisible as a woman. Here, I am a normal, attractive, woman to strangers and judged by my ideas and thoughts when getting introduced. For the first time I fit in.
As I settle in to this new culture and finally find the freedom to shake off the yoke of "body," I am rethinking the shame and pride that has so heavily influenced my life up to now. For, in my newfound freedom I have come to see that beauty is a much broader thing than what the fashion world tells us it is. I can now find beauty in my self, even though I wear a size 14. I can also find beauty in others, in women who (like myself) have failed to achieve an ideal body size.
Beyond this, though, I have come to realize that my whole perspective about body has been badly distorted and diseased by a culture that valued looks over health and mainly judged women based on their ability to conform to "feminine standards" that effectively devalued and disabled them as human beings.
For the truth is that a healthy body is niether skinny nor fat. The healthy woman is softly rounded and strong; she has the muscles and stamina to do what she wants and also the softly embracing body to comfort the people she loves. A healthy woman is not the tiny, fragile, thing that needs a sweater when it falls below 85 degrees, who catches every bug she comes into contact with, and exists on a diet of ego strokng and caffeine.
What is healthy is something that each of us can find; it is the place where we feel good, where we can comfortably do the thngs we want to do and push our limits without fear. It is the size that stays healthy, when we rarely get ill, when our body stops being a burden we carry or manipulate but is our vehicle to freedom and joy.
And, for the vast majority of women, the healthiest size is not skinny.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Being Mommy and Artist
Several weeks ago I came to the realization that I no longer think of myself as Juliette, now I'm Mommy; moreover, when asked what I do, my first answer is stay-at-home mom with artist tacked on like a wistful afterthought.
And I'm a great mommy. I long worried about whether I could accomplish that lofty title (and all that it means), but have found in the past, nearly 2 years, that it came easily and naturally to me as it does to most women.
The thing is, though, that as much as I define myself as a mother before anything else; I am still an artist (and all that IT means). And, being that, I can be obsessively preoccupied with my own thoughts, need a (excessive, to some) considerable amount of time to myself, can sometimes resent things that keep me from working on whatever project I'm obsessing over at the moment, have occasional bouts of melancholy, and am completely unproductive (in most every way) when stressed out or worried about anything relating to the stability of my life.
Knowing these things, we have, since our move to california, had a nanny/roomate living with us. Happily, we are able to have someone care for Lily 20 hours a week.. To me, this time is not a luxury, but a necessity, and I cannot imagine how I would be able to function (much less be happy) if we were not able to have this help.
It is not without its own stressors, though. First of all, I have many feelings of guilt and frustration about my inability to take care of my child without outside help. Who do I think I am to not be able to do what other women do, with far less helpful partners, and often more children than we have? What is so special about me that I think I should have childcare those 20 hours when I am not contributing money to the household, am not even close to being a great housekeeper-- I still haven't even worked making dinner as a regular habit into my schedule!
And, at least as stresful to me, is the knowledge that many of the people in our lives don't really see having a part-time nanny as a reasonable (or at least, necessary) thing. I know I must seem like a spoiled brat to feel incapable of being a "normal" stay-at-home mom, who happily cares for her child 24/7 while keeping a tidy house and having home-made dinners ready every night. I often think that about myself, too.
And maybe it's true. Maybe I could be that person if only I would grow up, take myself to task, adjust my attitude... Accept a new lot in life; one where I am the loving housechic and mommy, where I accept that my art will have to wait until Lily and I are in a place that offers me lesure time, where housework takes precedence over ideas, where I accept (gratefully) the beauty and meaningfulness of home and family-- and gracefully let go of the obsessive need to create.
The thing is, though, that even the though it MIGHT be possible; the thought of giving up that part of me (even for a while) makes me feel like crying.
Who am I, if not an artist? How can I continue to exist if I force into a coma the parts of myself that most fulfill me as a human, that make me feel important, that have provided me with the greatest justification to persevere during the darkest parts of my life?
I see the examples of amazing stay-at-home moms I know. I see that they manage to raise healthy, happy, children and create warm andd loving homes for their families. I see that they do this without "time off' like I have. I see that they appear to be relaxed, happy, and fulfilled with their lives. I see it and ask myself 1) how do they do it? 2)why can't I?
Without that 20 hours a week I don't know how I'd be able to keep the house as well as I do. How do they manage to give their kids enough attention while keeping a house clean, cooking, gardening and having friends and hobbies? I can barely half manage with 20 hours free!
In the end, though, I hope I won't have to make that choice. As guilty as I feel, and without any good excuse, I will continue to take those 20 hours a week to myself. I will continue to allow myself to get lost in my passion of a new idea, I will continue to struggle with balancing Lily's needs and my own.
For the truth is, and may ever be, that I (deep down) am simply an artist. I truly (and completely) believe that I am incapable of happiness without creating. I believe that if I were to try to be that "good" partner and mommy, I would eventually sink into the darkest abyss of depression, I would drown in feelings of dissappointment and discontent, and worst of all I would resent having to lose myself (at my most valuable) in order to be what other people think I should be.
And I do envy women who are able to be what I cannot. Life would be easier, probably much better too, if I could grow-up and stop being the spoiled brat that I am. I know, though, that I am (as all artists must be) too selfish and self-centered to make that sarifice.... as long as I have any other choice to take.
And I'm a great mommy. I long worried about whether I could accomplish that lofty title (and all that it means), but have found in the past, nearly 2 years, that it came easily and naturally to me as it does to most women.
The thing is, though, that as much as I define myself as a mother before anything else; I am still an artist (and all that IT means). And, being that, I can be obsessively preoccupied with my own thoughts, need a (excessive, to some) considerable amount of time to myself, can sometimes resent things that keep me from working on whatever project I'm obsessing over at the moment, have occasional bouts of melancholy, and am completely unproductive (in most every way) when stressed out or worried about anything relating to the stability of my life.
Knowing these things, we have, since our move to california, had a nanny/roomate living with us. Happily, we are able to have someone care for Lily 20 hours a week.. To me, this time is not a luxury, but a necessity, and I cannot imagine how I would be able to function (much less be happy) if we were not able to have this help.
It is not without its own stressors, though. First of all, I have many feelings of guilt and frustration about my inability to take care of my child without outside help. Who do I think I am to not be able to do what other women do, with far less helpful partners, and often more children than we have? What is so special about me that I think I should have childcare those 20 hours when I am not contributing money to the household, am not even close to being a great housekeeper-- I still haven't even worked making dinner as a regular habit into my schedule!
And, at least as stresful to me, is the knowledge that many of the people in our lives don't really see having a part-time nanny as a reasonable (or at least, necessary) thing. I know I must seem like a spoiled brat to feel incapable of being a "normal" stay-at-home mom, who happily cares for her child 24/7 while keeping a tidy house and having home-made dinners ready every night. I often think that about myself, too.
And maybe it's true. Maybe I could be that person if only I would grow up, take myself to task, adjust my attitude... Accept a new lot in life; one where I am the loving housechic and mommy, where I accept that my art will have to wait until Lily and I are in a place that offers me lesure time, where housework takes precedence over ideas, where I accept (gratefully) the beauty and meaningfulness of home and family-- and gracefully let go of the obsessive need to create.
The thing is, though, that even the though it MIGHT be possible; the thought of giving up that part of me (even for a while) makes me feel like crying.
Who am I, if not an artist? How can I continue to exist if I force into a coma the parts of myself that most fulfill me as a human, that make me feel important, that have provided me with the greatest justification to persevere during the darkest parts of my life?
I see the examples of amazing stay-at-home moms I know. I see that they manage to raise healthy, happy, children and create warm andd loving homes for their families. I see that they do this without "time off' like I have. I see that they appear to be relaxed, happy, and fulfilled with their lives. I see it and ask myself 1) how do they do it? 2)why can't I?
Without that 20 hours a week I don't know how I'd be able to keep the house as well as I do. How do they manage to give their kids enough attention while keeping a house clean, cooking, gardening and having friends and hobbies? I can barely half manage with 20 hours free!
In the end, though, I hope I won't have to make that choice. As guilty as I feel, and without any good excuse, I will continue to take those 20 hours a week to myself. I will continue to allow myself to get lost in my passion of a new idea, I will continue to struggle with balancing Lily's needs and my own.
For the truth is, and may ever be, that I (deep down) am simply an artist. I truly (and completely) believe that I am incapable of happiness without creating. I believe that if I were to try to be that "good" partner and mommy, I would eventually sink into the darkest abyss of depression, I would drown in feelings of dissappointment and discontent, and worst of all I would resent having to lose myself (at my most valuable) in order to be what other people think I should be.
And I do envy women who are able to be what I cannot. Life would be easier, probably much better too, if I could grow-up and stop being the spoiled brat that I am. I know, though, that I am (as all artists must be) too selfish and self-centered to make that sarifice.... as long as I have any other choice to take.
Monday, April 13, 2009
What I want to know....!
Is, if there is no God, then who in the world was it who heard me thinking "that 7 mile bike ride was nothing... I could have done 4 of those and still wanted more" and then turned on the wind so that the 7 miles back home was all against the wind and kicked my ass for being so smug?
But speaking of bike rides... I'm loving my bike. It is amazing weather here for riding and friendly to bikers as well. All along the way is lush and beautiful scenery; a thousand flowers and trees I never saw before I came out here.
I also dream, as I ride, of the body my bike is going to give me :) I'm already noticing that my backside is looking mighty-fine these days and dream about the slinky dresses and heels I'm going to wear in the not-too-distant future (to what, I don't know yet).
I find that working out has two additional benefits... 1) I have more energy to work out more, and 2) I have much less of an apetite. Both things seem promising with regard to slinky dresses and looking hot. Haha... I'm gonna be a MILF.
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