self portrait tuesday: in the arms of my insecurities
My first SPT post for February’s theme “all of me” is a photo of my arm. We were told to “embrace your mistakes, love the ugly bits”. Here is one of my ugly bits.
I’ve talked before about my body issues, how the only times I have felt feminine was during my pregancies. My arm is a perfect example of how awkward and gawky my body is. Looking at that photo of my arm conjures up images of cancer patients. Gaunt, starving refugees. Sick and struggling anorexics. I am none of those things, but the skin and bones on my arm would say differently.
When I was fourteen, I took a trip with my best friend’s youth group on a service mission to an orphanage in Mexico. He was the only person in the group that I knew well, everyone else was a relative stranger to me. At the time, I knew I looked different from the other girls my age. It bothered me for reasons of vanity- I wanted to be cute and pretty, budding with adolescence like my friends were. It never occurred to me however that when people looked at me, my body told them something more than just my youthful inelegance. A few days into our trip, the women gathered in one of the dormitories and summoned me in. When I sat down, they were all looking at me with pained and serious expressions. I began to panic, sure they were about to tell me that my family had died or my house had burned down. Taking my nerves as a cue that they were on the right track, one of the women leaned towards me and said softly, “Karli, we’ve noticed that you don’t eat.”
Um, excuse me? What the heck…?
Another woman launched into a lecture about the dangers of anorexia, and how she had struggled with it as a young girl as well, but with the help of people who loved her she had overcome the horrible disease. When I realized what was going on (this was an intervention!) I burst out laughing.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I told them. “I’m a garbage disposal! I eat ALL THE TIME! I’m always hungry!” I called my friend Jeremy in for back up. “Tell them I eat,” I demanded. “I’m not anorexic.” He supported my claims, citing the time he watched me consume almost an entire package of Oreos by myself. And I didn’t throw it up later.
“We understand that this might be difficult to hear,” they said. “But you’re sick. We can all see it. We’ve watched you at meals, and you don’t eat anything.” I tried to explain that on the plane ride down, Jeremy had traumatized me with stories of dog meat and “mystery” meals, so I had been eating only the tortillas and fruit. They weren’t buying it. They all held hands and prayed for me to be healed, while Jeremy and I sat there with our mouths open, completely incredulous.
When they left, he looked at me and said, “What was that?” I just shook my head and ate some of the licorice he offered me.
Another time, I was in dance class learning how to pirouette. All of the girls in my class were twirling around the room, their perfect little bodies spinning in beautiful circles. I felt like a lumbering giant towering over them, and I was having trouble finding my center of balance. My teacher stopped the music and clapped her hands for attention. All of the students stopped and watched as she walked over to me, and rearranged my arms so that my hands overlapped in front of me. She told me that I had to compensate for the length of my arms, so I wouldn’t be able to position my arms the same way as everyone else. All the other girls giggled as I stood there blushing, humiliated at being singled out for something I was already so insecure about. I quit ballet soon after that.
I’d love to say that as I’ve gotten older and wiser, I have come to accept the way my arms look, maybe even learned to love my body. It hasn’t happened yet, but I still have hope that some day I’ll look in the mirror and not cringe at the reflection I see looking back. I have to reprogram my brain, to override the tapes that play on repeat, telling me how ugly and disgusting I look. It’s a long, slow, insanely difficult process… but I’m working on it.
When I was in high school, my best friend had the same problem. I can’t count the number of adults or other kids at school who approached me to ask if I was concerned or thought Sara had a problem. She ate a like a horse, but couldn’t convince the school counselor she didn’t need help!
I’ve only just started reading your blog recently, but you have a great writing style. Thanks for being so open and sharing! And I hope your daughter’s eye has healed.
Comment by Staci — February 14, 2006 @ February 14, 2006 at 12:35 pm
Isn’t it difficult for us all? You are beeooteeful! I love the intervention story.
Comment by Heather — February 14, 2006 @ February 14, 2006 at 4:26 pm
ahh that sucks. but really your arms don’t look bad to me.
Comment by alex — February 14, 2006 @ February 14, 2006 at 5:23 pm
It’s such a shame that we use the way our arms or legs or stomachs look to measure our worth.
I would never let you see a photo of my fat leg…
and how typical that someone magnified your situation into an intervention.
Comment by blackbird — February 14, 2006 @ February 14, 2006 at 6:01 pm
I don’t think people realize that very thin people are just as self-conscious of their size as people who are over weight. It would be so horrible to walk up to an over weight person and say, “Oh my gosh you are so huge!”. Why is it considered just fine to say “Oh my gosh you are so scrawny!” to a very thin person? While it may seem really great to have trouble gaining weight, to that person it can be something painful. Thank you for pointing this out so eloquently.
Comment by Karen — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 8:16 am
My two best friends are both very, very thin and they are approached daily by people who are concerned if they are eating — complete strangers. It’s hard for them as I imagine it’s hard for you. Thanks for sharing this part of yourself, this “ugly bit”. The way you shared it with us is fabulous.
Thanks for the comment you left on my blog…I’ve spent some time here reading your other posts and you are a fantastic writer. I really don’t know how I missed out on your blog, but I won’t anymore.
Comment by mama_tulip — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 11:03 am
What those arms must mean to your girls when you hold and tickle and snuggle them up!
Comment by Jenna — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 1:25 pm
Hey lady, your a natural waif. I’m guessing your tall and look like a ballerina. I think that’s a beautiful body-type.
Comment by Bethany — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 2:03 pm
Fabulous post! The intervention story was hilarious! Thank you for your great post - very inspiring and for sharing the picture of your beautiful arm!
Comment by Tiffini — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 2:20 pm
that’s all you can do…work on it. it is a horrific process but it’s well worth it…at least that’s what i tell myself. looks like you’re on the right track…the pic says it all…you’re opening your arms up…to yourself…
Comment by la vie en rose — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 2:48 pm
I think we should do some sort of intervention related to the fact that your arms are green. Maybe it could be a “we know you’re an internet alien but won’t admit it” intervention.
Comment by Kathryn, the DYM — February 15, 2006 @ February 15, 2006 at 10:11 pm
I love reading your blog and learning more about you. I’ve always hated my short arms and legs, and when looking at you, I marvel at the incredibly beautiful person that came from me. How did that happen? Genetics are amazing. Of course, I think everything about you is perfect.
Comment by mom — February 16, 2006 @ February 16, 2006 at 7:13 am
If it helps, I have often wished I had a body like yours — I think it looks beautiful & thin (oh, thin, what a holy grail for me) & graceful. Believe in what others see in you because you can make it your truth.
Comment by R — February 17, 2006 @ February 17, 2006 at 4:29 pm
I have funky weird arms too. If it will make you feel better- I will post a pic of them on my blog- just say the word
Comment by Lou — February 17, 2006 @ February 17, 2006 at 7:35 pm
Okay, I have to say this! Before I read this I saw your post on the ’80s dance, and the picture, and I thought, “Man! I would LOVE to have a body like that!” It’s a woman thing; we’re never happy with them, I think.
Thank you for being so transparent…
Comment by jeana — February 20, 2006 @ February 20, 2006 at 6:22 am
Dear, thank you for this picture. Your arm looks like my mothers, when she opens her arms wide so wide to take me as I was a very small child and hold me so strong and warm. Your arm looks powerful and keeping safe, carriying lots of open mind and love. I am true. You can tell because my ten year old son just passed along and said: Oh mum I’ve to take you in my arms right now. How could he know? Love to you.
Comment by Laura — February 20, 2006 @ February 20, 2006 at 6:47 am