Then and Now
I have freakishly long arms. Nothing but bones and skin. My fingers are the same way, and when my husband and I place our palms together, even though his hands are larger than mine my fingers extend a good quarter inch above his. I've always been the "tall" one, longer and bonier than anyone I knew. And I've always hated it.
When I was in first grade I began taking ballet lessons. Although I was passionate about the art, I could never dance like the other girls could. They, with their petite bodies and compact centers of gravity could easily lift legs high and twirl gracefully in place. I hated seeing the ease with which they lived and danced in their skin. I was always taller and clumsier than they were. I never was able to dance the part of Clara in the Nutcracker (my ultimate dream) because by the time I was good enough, I was way too tall to play the part of a little girl.
Perhaps if I had stuck with ballet through the worst gangly years, I would have learned how to compensate for my lengthy limbs and found a way to appreciate what my body could do. However, I quit just before I turned fourteen when my instructor told me to overlap my hands during the pirouettes. It was absolutely humiliating. I couldn't do the proper body positioning because of the way I was shaped. My self-esteem, already rocky, plummeted. I had always kept my hair short, but I began shaving it and dying the leftover fuzz crazy colors. I wore strange clothes, lots of eye make-up, and bizarre jewelry. Looking back now, I understand why I wanted to look so weird. If people were staring at me or making comments about my appearance, it was so much easier to take if I knew they were talking about my outrageous style. If I had done my best to look pretty and feminine, and still gotten those judgmental stares and rude comments it would have broken me. Deep inside I consoled myself with the knowledge that when I grew up, things would be different. I would look prettier, curvier, sexier. I would grow into my sharp angles and fill out in all the right places. Unfortunately I'm still waiting for that to happen.
The only time in my entire life that I've felt feminine was during my pregnancies, when the bony features I am so self-conscious about finally became soft and round. For once I actually walked with my shoulders held back, proudly displaying my beautiful figure to the world. But after the pregnancies were over, things went back to the way they had always been. Although sadly, where things were once flat and tight, they've become loose and flabby. Instead of my breasts growing, my thighs have. I still feel awkward and goofy. But I'm starting to realize that my body will never change the way I hoped it would. As I grow older, things will stretch and expand and wrinkle in ways that I won't like. Now in my twenties, this is probably about as good as it's going to get. I think it's time to stop waiting for things to change, and start appreciating what I have.
Admitting that I'll never look the way I envisioned myself looking as an adult is sad and hard, but I've already missed out on a lot by hating my body. If I close my eyes I can still hear a crackly recording of a piano echoing against the vast studio walls. Dust motes float in the rays of sunlight filtering in through the windows, and I can smell the soft leather of my ballet shoes against the aged wood floor. I can feel my long arms extending, trying to reach the woman I've become and remind her of the things she's loved, and the things she's lost. The woman I am now is not so different from the girl I once was, but now I have girls of my own. I want them to love their bodies and live a life of fulfillment and joy, instead of hoping for a future of change.
When I was in first grade I began taking ballet lessons. Although I was passionate about the art, I could never dance like the other girls could. They, with their petite bodies and compact centers of gravity could easily lift legs high and twirl gracefully in place. I hated seeing the ease with which they lived and danced in their skin. I was always taller and clumsier than they were. I never was able to dance the part of Clara in the Nutcracker (my ultimate dream) because by the time I was good enough, I was way too tall to play the part of a little girl.
Perhaps if I had stuck with ballet through the worst gangly years, I would have learned how to compensate for my lengthy limbs and found a way to appreciate what my body could do. However, I quit just before I turned fourteen when my instructor told me to overlap my hands during the pirouettes. It was absolutely humiliating. I couldn't do the proper body positioning because of the way I was shaped. My self-esteem, already rocky, plummeted. I had always kept my hair short, but I began shaving it and dying the leftover fuzz crazy colors. I wore strange clothes, lots of eye make-up, and bizarre jewelry. Looking back now, I understand why I wanted to look so weird. If people were staring at me or making comments about my appearance, it was so much easier to take if I knew they were talking about my outrageous style. If I had done my best to look pretty and feminine, and still gotten those judgmental stares and rude comments it would have broken me. Deep inside I consoled myself with the knowledge that when I grew up, things would be different. I would look prettier, curvier, sexier. I would grow into my sharp angles and fill out in all the right places. Unfortunately I'm still waiting for that to happen.
The only time in my entire life that I've felt feminine was during my pregnancies, when the bony features I am so self-conscious about finally became soft and round. For once I actually walked with my shoulders held back, proudly displaying my beautiful figure to the world. But after the pregnancies were over, things went back to the way they had always been. Although sadly, where things were once flat and tight, they've become loose and flabby. Instead of my breasts growing, my thighs have. I still feel awkward and goofy. But I'm starting to realize that my body will never change the way I hoped it would. As I grow older, things will stretch and expand and wrinkle in ways that I won't like. Now in my twenties, this is probably about as good as it's going to get. I think it's time to stop waiting for things to change, and start appreciating what I have.
Admitting that I'll never look the way I envisioned myself looking as an adult is sad and hard, but I've already missed out on a lot by hating my body. If I close my eyes I can still hear a crackly recording of a piano echoing against the vast studio walls. Dust motes float in the rays of sunlight filtering in through the windows, and I can smell the soft leather of my ballet shoes against the aged wood floor. I can feel my long arms extending, trying to reach the woman I've become and remind her of the things she's loved, and the things she's lost. The woman I am now is not so different from the girl I once was, but now I have girls of my own. I want them to love their bodies and live a life of fulfillment and joy, instead of hoping for a future of change.
June 24, 2005