Someone asked me recently how I talk to my daughter about modesty. It was a conversation morphing into how to help our daughters see their bodies as important, but not too important. (See this post, Naked Truth about Body Image.)
Incessantly telling her she’s beautiful—though I honestly believe she is–doesn’t seem to be the answer: “Don’t worry about looking beautiful. You’ve got that one down!”
Author’s note: If you missed these previous posts, you might grab them first for other overarching ideas on choosing vulnerability even when it’s hard–and being a safe place for others when they don’t have their act together.
My husband and I were headed out on a date night (can you hear the angel choirs singing? I needed it. As in, bad). It was admittedly last minute, to the point that my curly-turned-cotton-candy hair had been lassoed by a headband and fun-bun. But my kids would have food and it looked positive no one would burn anything down, so the big stuff was covered. Thus I sat in the passenger seat with my makeup bag, aka magic wand. I was just about through patting on concealer when my husband looked over at me.
Hey.
So–I was thinking of you. Every month I get a little excited when that one women’s magazine pops in my mailbox. Your brother brought it in to me last week. It’s a frivolous happiness, just one that keeps me posted on the latest trends, gives me good ideas, and, let’s be honest, keeps me from getting frumpy.
But every now and then, there’s an article that lifts my eyebrows. Sometimes the frou-frou just gets too obvious. This month, I found one that I might cut out so you don’t accidentally find it. But instead, I’ll tell you about it.
I remember watching the pageant on my stomach on the carpet: One of my favorite television events of the year. There was the talent portion, the interview, the evening gown. Your ideal, they sang. And sure enough–girls around the nation wondered just like I did: Could I ever do that?
Four kids later, I no longer aspire to Miss America. Sometimes I just aspire to satisfy my clients, get my kids showered and all wearing underwear at the same time, keep the house from burning down.
But for other little girls? Things just got easier.
So I’ve been presenting our church’s announcements lately. Which y’know, wouldn’t be that big of a thing if they didn’t…tape me. So far, every Sunday, I shrink a little in my seat as the monitor enlarges my prerecorded face to two feet tall. True, I see this little video as a distinct hospitality, inviting people into our church’s activities and community, making them feel welcome and relaxed, maybe even laugh a little.
But it’s time for me to admit some straight-up immaturity on my part. (I’ve written about my gnarly body-image issues before. )After seeing meticulous beauty all the time on TV, it’s hard not to succumb to the eyes of our culture’s usual bait-and-switch, our love affair with an attractive veneer. I hone in on my flaws: My crazy-curly hair is pretty set on doing its own thing. The woman doing it before me was probably a size 4. And could we position the camera up a little so my chin doesn’t look so double-y?
This is one of those posts where I’ve still got so many issues that I wonder if I should be writing it in the first place (possibly passing on my corrupted thoughts to all of you?). Body image and I have a long and gnarly history. (See the first post of this series, A Body Good: Naked Truth about Body Image…and this one.) I still wrestle with it in real-time, so consider this a post of someone thinking out loud.
In my recent conversations with Western women, I’m getting the idea that I’m sadly far from alone. Body image certainly influences our confidence. The way we spend our time. Our sexuality and marriages.
My friend gazed at me through FaceTime, a kind smile on her face. “I just want to let you know that I just counted you saying the word ‘stupid’ six times when talking about yourself.”
Yikes.
She grinned. “I’m telling you this for your sanctification.” A little church-girl humor there. I thanked her.
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