This fictional example of what runs through many women's minds when looking at themselves in the mirror is a reflection of how millions of women, (and men), feel about their bodies. This is written from a woman's point of view simply because I am a woman. Until we begin to see ourselves, men and women alike, as whole beings, not just outside packaging, we will sadly try to be what's not real: those portrayed on magazine covers, etc. Even they admit their airbrushed photos are not what they see in the mirror. Not by a long shot.
As spiritual beings inside of a human body, we are all beautiful. However, society tends to lean towards the outside, before looking within.
Remember, we are ALL beautiful beings.
The following is an example of a woman looking at her naked self in the mirror and being overly critical of her reflection- or what she perceives as her reflection.
Shelly stared at her forty-three year old body in the mirror. Unclothed, she picked out every flaw she could find, making a mental list of them all.
Her arms were too flabby. When did she get the bye-bye jiggle? Her breasts were sagging, no longer firm and ‘perky’. Were they ever? It didn’t matter. They were saggy, and silicone wasn’t in the cards. Working her way down and feeling sick, she pinched an inch from her waistline, (at least she still had one), and continued downward to the pooch that’d become her once semi-flat belly. She never had six pack abs, but a pooch? Squeezing it with one hand while the other massaged her left temple to ease the headache coming on, she jiggled the fat around. This kind of self torture was insane, she thought. However, Shelly didn’t stop. Her thighs were bigger than ever, and resembled distorted tree stumps. Their lumpy, bumpy texture continued to her knees, which seemed to have developed a bit of an overhang and some wrinkles. Wrinkled knees? Do they make a cream for that? Her eyes scanned her shins, noticing some blue spider veins scattered randomly about. Blue spiders crawling up my legs, too? Could it get any worse? Yes. With only her ankles and feet left to be critiqued, she forced her eyes downward yet again, to find feet with bunions, calluses and fallen arches. They looked like duck feet, she said aloud in her bedroom. Maybe that’s where I belong. Out in a pond somewhere.
Shelly knew the worst was yet to come. She had to turn around and look at her backside, but didn’t know if she could take anymore.
Slipping on her robe, she headed to the bathroom and decided to analyze her face. It’d be a good breather between rounds.
Not bad, she reasoned. Her skin was in decent shape, sans a few dark spots here and there caused by old sun damage. The lightening cream seemed to be working. She didn’t have any real wrinkles to speak of, except for a few fine lines, and she’d earned them. The only things she despised were the deep creases between her eyes and the ‘man hairs’ she needed to pluck or wax above her lip. My, God. If I were stranded on an island, I’d end up looking like a man! Without a chance to get rid of them, they’d probably grow into a beard. What’s with the whiskers?
Even the face scan didn’t go as smoothly as she’d hoped. But, nothing was going to compare to her rear-view. One concession was the lighting. At least she wasn’t in a dressing room, illuminated by fluorescent bulbs. What a nightmare. Why do stores do that, anyway? Is it to scare us into buying whatever clothes we’re trying on? Anything looks better than my body in a dressing room. Men must have designed them as a cheap marketing ploy. Buy the clothes and get the hell out of there!
Glancing at the clock, she saw it was only six. Her date wouldn’t be there until eight, so she still had plenty of time to complete her body scan. A date? I still can’t believe I’m going on a date. It’s been fifteen years and two kids since I had a date!
His name was Tom and they’d become friends over the past year or so. He was a pharmacist where she got her prescriptions filled. After many months of going in to pick up her allergy meds, he noticed a new prescription for an anti-depressant prescribed to her after her husband, Gary, decided he didn’t want to be married anymore and left. Turns out, it wasn’t that Gary didn’t want to be married. He didn’t want to be married to her. Five months after he left she received a postcard from the Bahamas with a picture of Gary and his new wife, Ashley-all of twenty-nine years old. That was the final push, hence the anti-depressants. Although no longer on them, Gary’s abandoning their entire life, and family, felt like an open wound with a bit of salt dumped on it.
Her friendship with Tom was unplanned. After he explained the side-effects of her new medication, the doorway to casual chatting opened. One thing led to another. A year of small-talk later, she was about to have dinner with him- and was scared out of her mind.
It’s just dinner, she repeated over and over again to nobody. That’s all. No kiss. Nothing. We are simply friends eating together…in a restaurant…by candlelight. Damn! I’m really not ready for this.
Back to the mirror, with another in her hand so she could take it all in. With her back facing the full length, tell-it-like-it-is mirror, she held the smaller one up so she could see what she wished remained unseen.
She gasped. Look at my ass!
