Mirror mirror

I've spent much time recently pondering the vagaries of self image and the connection between self image and self worth. In our body-obsessed culture, it is hard to escape the media attention placed on the perfect body.  Despite the fact that few people are genetically blessed to have the capacity to achieve what our society defines as a "perfect" body; those of us that hold a full time job simply don't have the time to hone our outer vessels into something society accepts as perfect.

In fact, the preferred body shape for women has not always been slim and big breasted.  The ideal women in the 1800s was fuller figured while in the 1920s women bound their breasts to achieve what I can only term a boyish figure.

Personally, I have struggled to obtain a 'perfect' body since my early teens.  I have been known to skip dessert, whine over my muffin top and refuse to wear a two-piece in summer.  I frequently feel inferior around my fellow women who always appear to me as skinnier, more toned, less hairy and generally better looking than I could ever dream to be.   However, I consider myself lucky to not have succumbed to the pressure to achieve such an elusive goal through eating disorders or obsessive exercise (perhaps I lack the necessary dedication to the cause or perhaps I just like food too much and am not willing to give up chocolate pudding in order to have a flat stomach).

Styling advice abounds on how to dress according to your body shape.  Some people, like the infamous Trinny and Susannah, have made this pursuit their profession and have made shapewear a household term.  I recall one bridesmaid experience where a member of the bridal party was aghast that I would attend the wedding day without tummy trimming underwear, especially when I had carried two children.  Amazed by this, I did a quick survey of the rest of the bridal party and some of the guests at the wedding and found that I truly was a freak.  So much for donning sexy lacy underwear for a special occasion!  I was shocked that these women, almost all of whom were younger than me and not mothers would feel the need to squeeze themselves into uncomfortable, restrictive and, to my mind, unflattering underwear in order to look a little more toned in their frock.

It's possibly no surprise to hear my reaction to a sub-30 year old friend who recently had botox on her forehead and dermal filler for her lips.  I was floored.  Not only did it look like she had been subjected to an encounter with a hive of angry bees, she'd paid $700 for the privilege of spending a weekend with an ice pack on her lips.  To top it off, she's now committed to going every quarter for repeat treatments.  I look at that and equate the money she's spending to have a smooth forehead and fuller lips with an annual holiday and I know which one I would choose!

But on a grander scale, I am saddened to think that a woman in her 20s is so upset with the way she looks (and how she is perceived by those around her) that she willingly injects neurotoxins into her body.  And she's not the only one.  Botox is increasingly popular with 1.5 million injections delivered to Australians in 2010.  We spend billions every year on treatments to seemingly halt the aging process.  It's the plastic fantastic phase.

I am relieved to know that there is an upsurgence against the body obsession with some governments banning advertising (and airbrushing) that portrays unhealthy bodies and rare journalists reporting on the perceived strength of media to manipulate women and the torture they put their bodies under. 

I have, over the last few decades, come to realise how much more important my actions are than how I look.  I like the reflection in the mirror more on the days where I have done something for myself or for someone I love, regardless of the wrinkles and imperfections.  My children care not for my orange peel thighs but love that I will play with them on the swings or attempt to amuse them with handstands and failed attempts at round-offs.  My friends don't know if I move from a size 8 to a size 10 but appear to like that I deliver dessert when I visit.  And I am guessing my husband prefers black lace over nude shapewear too, even if there is bulging of skin here and there.

I feel better on the days where I exercise.  The endorphins help me ward of stress from work and living away from my family during the week and I get some fresh air and outdoor time which I love.  Ideally my exercise would be in the sunshine but even a walk in the rain in the dark of pre-dawn sets me up for a happier day than I would have ordinarily had.

For me, it has taken a long time to get to this point.  I have put in a lot of work to be able to turn against the media pressure to look a certain way.  Some days I still fail. 

Perhaps I am a freak but I like to think that women are smarter than society gives them credit for.  I'd like to think that women would make a conscious decision to live a healthy life, an authentic life.  One where they are comfortable in their own skin.  A life where they eat food, mostly plants, not too much (Michael Pollan); exercise and get enough rest.  But, to butcher the lyrics of Carly Rae Jepson, call me crazy.

Busyness

I've already spoken of switched on living and reflective practices that, I believe, are fundamental to living a full life.  I've touched on authenticity and living organically; true to yourself and your ideals.  An overlay on all of this is the pressure to be busy.  I see so many people that have back-to-back activites - Monday is netball, on Tuesday there's gym, Wednesday is social night, Thursday partner night and Friday the kids get taken to McDonalds and the weekend in punctuated with appointments and gatherings.  I see people rushing through life - doing what I can only describe as "stuff".  The time they spend bustling around in the morning and evening after work does not seem to generate anything.  It's just activity (see the eloquent writing of Tim Kreider). 

There are so many people rushing around all the time .  And, most of the time, I am one of them.  My days in Melbourne are punctuated with long hours in the office, catch ups with much-neglected friends and desperate attempts to squeeze in some form of physical activity.  In amongst all that I try to make meals for the family for the following week, plan further education for myself and the kids and collect supplies for the build.  Weekends are spent building the house, catching up on washing and cleaning at home, paying bills and caring for children. 

I can cope with this current level of busyness as, I hope, it's a short-term gig for us.  I took a job in Melbourne to pay for the build; so I can see The Gentleman Builder's childhood dream come true; so I can provide a better life for my gorgeous children and so I can spend some time with my terminally ill father, my family and my friends that I haven't spent much time with since moving to Gippsland 5 years ago.  I have a brilliant job that I really love and get to work with some exceptionally talented, interesting and stimulating people.

But I freely admit this is not the end for me.  My plans do not live a life where I am away from my family.  My goal is to settle into country living.  Not the idealised country life where everything is scones and leisurely walks (though I do plan to include those things in abundance) but the reality of country life; where I will get stuck into the seasonality of life.  A life where we will fertilise and plant furiously in the spring to be able to harvest in the autumn.  Where activity comes in bursts interspersed with moments, days I hope, of nothingness.  Where, should the weather be fine and the wind be weak, I could choose a good book from the shelf and settle into the hammock to soak up some vitamin D and get lost in another world.  I dream of a life where I could decide to pick up the camera and take photos all day.  I envisage our block set up with sheep, goats, pigs, chooks, geese and ducks; where the flowers grow in abundace and I spend many long hours enjoying the view.  I hope for a life that is reflective, honest and peaceful.  A life that is overflowing with fresh organic produce for long lunches and dinners with friends that feed both the stomach and the soul. 

I dream of, even crave, times of hard work - I am not averse to work; even in abundance.  But I believe work should be followed by rest.  Time to relect on life.  Time to share thoughts and ideas with others; time to soak up sunshine; time to let the wind blow through your hair and take your troubles away; time to just be.

Authenticity

Call it confirmational bias but I keep coming across authenticity lately and so feel compelled to write about it too.  To me, being authentic is the truthfulness and sincerity in the way you live life.  Authenticity involves following your heart, acknowledging the way you feel about things and acting in accordance with that despite the cultural norms.  

Authenticity is the alignment of head, mouth, heart, and feet - thinking, saying, feeling, and doing the same thing - consistently. 

I recently saw the 2009 Bruce Willis movie Surrogates.  I am not sure how this movie skipped under my radar when it was released but seeing it got me thinking; not only about how willing so many people would be to actually take up the option of having a surrogate live their life but also about the 'face' we present to the world.  I find most people have a game face that they display to all but a select few.

I believe that living authentically is the first step towards self-acceptance.  Internal struggles are usual for me. I seem to constantly toggle between options, evaluating my choices against my beliefs and values.  When I make a decision that is against my better judgement I always come to regret it.  Living authentically leads to less anger and frustration.  

Authenticity is no longer just the realm of those living against societal norms; it seems plenty of people are jumping on the bandwagon. There are even IT think tanks joining in the chorus and developing applications to allow companies to recognise that employees need to live authentically in the workplace.  Of course, the organisation is set to benefit from embracing this by getting a bigger slice of their employees' time but most people would like to know their entire skill set is appreciated.

To live authentically you need firstly to know what it is you value, what you need, what you are passionate about,  what your strengths are and what you want to achieve.  To me, living authentically involves:

• Valuing people over possessions
• Caring for others (not only in the direct sense but also giving myself permission to think and care about other people and what is happening in their life)
• Expressing genuine interest in others rather than merely adhering social niceties
• Being involved in the lives of the ones I love
• Making time to play (this includes playing with my children and other children but also finding time to have do photography, cooking and sewing )
• Seeking inspiration -  spending time with friends and family
• Fulfilling life-long dreams
• Limiting, as much as possible, negative self-talk

My ability to live authentically is compromised when I am tired, overworked or feeling pressured (which is pretty often at the moment).  There are plenty of external pressures that affect my ability to live authentically and have me questioning my values.  However, I try to have checks in place to make sure I am operating in a manner that I am happy with.  For me, the biggest checkpoint is when I lie in bed at night.  In the quiet time between wakefulness and sleep I can gauge very easily whether I have made the right choices during the day.  For me, peace comes when I have been true to myself and, in doing so, done no harm to others.

Lance Secretan