There was a time when I was exercising two to three hours each day while subsisting on only three Tootsie Pop suckers and a single meal. All 90 pounds of me was a high school soccer player with anorexia who happened to like Tootsie Pops. I’d eat dinner at home to keep my parents from asking too many questions and to give myself just enough fuel to do it all again the next day.
Gentlemen callers? I had them. Scholarships? I got them.
But, even then, I felt big. So big that I’d weigh myself before and after peeing, just to see if I could detect any weight loss.
I really hated my bod. And although my relationship with food has improved, I kind of still do.
I mean, I think we’re supposed to, right? Because if we started valuing wrinkles and rolls and didn’t need injections and diets, who’d enjoy caviar paid for by the filthy profits from our rampant self-loathing? Nobody!
The thing is, I’m tired of the habitual inner monologue of disgust. It’s draining my life force as much as my pockets, and I realized recently that I might be contributing to its veracity.
In a well-meaning effort to reflect the loveliness I see in people, I almost always start interactions by telling the person something like …
“You look amazing!”
“Have you lost weight?”
“How is it that you don’t age?”
And while seeing familiar people is nice on the eyes, what I’m inadvertently communicating is that I’m assessing their body — that when I see them, the first thing I’ll do is take stock of their appearance.
Maybe that’s basic human nature (and maybe I’m splitting hairs), but I’ve recently noticed a woman in my life who almost never comments on my appearance. The result, for me, has been interesting.
At first, I misunderstood no news to mean bad news. I wondered if the lack of commentary meant nothing about me was notable. After a while, though, something changed.
I stopped expecting to be assessed. Then I stopped worrying about being assessed. And now I’m really relieved not to be assessed.
I am free.
At least, when I’m around this one woman.
Is my hair looking good or bad? Doesn’t matter. Have I gained or lost a few pounds? Inconsequential. Did my skin break out or clear up? Unimportant. I am warmly received no matter what I look like.
And. It’s. So. Lovely.
It made me think: if I want to contribute to people feeling great about themselves, perhaps the best way to do that isn’t to reinforce the false notion that appearances are important or that certain kinds of bodies, like thin or youthful-looking ones, are better than others (*ahem* and I’m looking at you, racism, sexism, ableism, etc.).
So, if I see you and don’t compliment your look, it’s not because I don’t think you’re stunning; it’s just that I think everyone is.
Marina Gomberg’s lifestyle columns appear on sltrib.com. She is a communications professional and lives in Salt Lake City with her wife, Elenor Gomberg, and their son, Harvey. You can reach Marina at mgomberg@sltrib.com.
