friendship

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

/ frankiegolightly / Leave a comment

mirror

Talking with one of my close friends yesterday, she told me about a recent night out with a group of girlfriends.  What should have been a wonderful evening was, for her, marred by the main topic of conversation: body image.  Not a constructive debate about media pressure and the like, just ten women sitting around a table bemoaning what they see in the mirror and discussing how fat they are.  This went on and on, and from her point of view was made more frustrating by the fact that the woman driving the conversation was tall and slim.

Why do we do this to ourselves?  Why do we waste so much of our precious time and energy worrying about this shit  (my previous blog Underneath It All).   Even when we’re smart enough to know better, we still let these insecurities drive us, drain away our potential for enjoying life to the full.  It’s like a constant, annoying background hum – the accompanying soundtrack to our lives. As my friend pointed out that evening, we judge ourselves harshest of all:  when we look in the mirror we focus on what we don’t like, when we look at others we take in the whole picture.  And the list of potential defects to focus on grows longer as the social dictates of what constitutes beauty becomes ever more narrow and unattainable.

The support and bond of female friendship is something to be treasured, yet we fall prey to the demon Comparison.  Other women damage our self-esteem.  If we weren’t comparing ourselves to media images and to each other, would we feel too fat or too skinny or too saggy?  If we appreciated our bodies for the amazing instruments they are and shifted our focus to keeping them healthy, I’m sure we would be a much happier lot.

A male friend of mine summed it up well by saying “when a man walks into a bar, he scans the room looking at the women.  When a woman walks into a bar, she scans the room looking at the women.”  These days it’s rare for a woman to need a man to put a roof over her head or food on her table, so why do we feel the need to check out the competition in a way men don’t?  We compare, we judge, we let that eat away at our self-esteem and our sense of female solidarity.  Come on, ladies, we deserve better than this.

The truth is I have always been deeply insecure about my looks.  And there is no doubt it has held me back.  But when I look at (rare) photos of me ten or twenty years ago I would love to have that version of me back now.  Yet I remember at the time hating what I saw in the mirror.  And I know the me of ten years hence will feel the same way about this current version.  So I’ve chosen to bow out, I’m not playing that game anymore.  Instead of waiting for the perfect vision of hindsight, I am making an effort to appreciate the me I am now.  And you know what it feels like?  Relief.

 

Image found in the public domain

Does Kindness Trump Authenticity?

/ frankiegolightly

I am spending a lot of time with my family at the moment.  Which can be challenging for oh so many reasons (not least the endless supply of cake), but particularly when it comes to the sticky issue of being true to myself.  Not only is it easy to fall into playing to the stereotype they have of me (a big enough topic to have a post all of its own), it’s also raised for me the question:  does kindness trump authenticity?

As I imagine it is with most families (unless we’re even more screwed up than I realise), we have long established ways of communicating with each other.  Some of these are silly, childish traditions created when I was a different person (an actual child, for instance).  Particularly with my Dad.  I am not that person now, and who I am today wouldn’t behave that way.  But it would break my Dad’s heart if I didn’t play along.  And, even in the name of authenticity, I’m not prepared to do that.

So I was getting my knickers in a twist thinking about this.  Was I just taking an easy way out?  Then I started to make the distinction between honesty and authenticity.  I had been starting from the assumption that to be authentic you had to be honest.  Which is of course true.  But would it be enough to be honest with myself?  If I chose to be authentically kind?  Which made me wonder if perhaps sincerity is a more appropriate word.  More kind, in fact.

I’ve rubbed up against this honesty dilemma before.  Years ago when looking at my personal values, honesty was at the top of my list.  Oh yes, siree, I believed with all my stubborn Taurean heart that this was Number One Most Important to me, I had absolutely no truck with dishonesty.  Don’t be playing my friend if you weren’t going to be honest.  Or so I thought, until I looked at how this really played out in my life.  If a friend asked my opinion of her outfit and I thought she looked terrible, would I tell her?  If she was at home and able to change, then yes I’d definitely suggest something more flattering.  If we were already out and she could do nothing about it, I certainly wouldn’t tell her she looked like an exploding sausage, for example (unless so much wine had been consumed we’d both find it fall-off-our-seats hilarious … is there that much wine?).  What would be the point of ruining her evening?  So there I was, trampling on my number one value, which isn’t a smart thing to do.  It meant I had to review and revise:  yes, honesty is still hugely important to me, but in practice it appears kindness is more so.  Who’d have thought?  I surprised my stubborn self.

I’d love to live in a world where kindness and honesty could always be one and the same.  To never have these conflicts, to be honest and true and accepting of each other at all times.  And bluebirds would sit on my shoulder singing melodiously.  That’s certainly something to work towards, and in the meantime I’ll continue to muddle my way through doing my best to find a balance.  But until that day, yes, for me kindness trumps authenticity.  As long as it’s sincere.