My Body Is Not Your Body
For Mother’s Day, I went to a spa. An au-naturel kind of spa.
And at some point…from the first removing of my robe, to the hand-pouring of herb-infused water over my body (like a goddamn goddess), to the in and out of the soaking tubs (fresh unveilings on repeat), to the FULL BODY scrub (splayed out, all slippery and jiggly, positioned between a stranger and a dear friend)…in the fluorescent bright light, among this collection of women of all varieties imaginable with landscapes, inside and out, completely unfamiliar to me…it all became so vividly clear…we are all SO very and truly different.
There were…
little butts, big butts, flat butts, round butts, firm butts, juicy butts
breasts, perky and bright, breasts, swaying and free, full and round, loose and bouncy, small and fixed
nipples, all shapes and sizes, in every shade of blush and coffee
tight skin, loose skin, textured, smooth, freckled, hairy, shaven skin
bodies, tall, curvy, lean, with short torsos and long legs, and long torsos with short legs, and every combination in between
There was not a body identical to another…not even close. Yet, there was a common thread woven throughout each of us…We were all just a bunch of bodies doing what real bodies do, moving the way real bodies move, bone and fat and muscle and skin.
We try so hard, in all these superficial ways, to blend in. Corralling and muting our uniqueness into accepted behaviors, silhouettes, beliefs, Instagram feeds, trying so hard to look exactly the same in order to feel some sense of safety and belonging. But in the fluorescently illuminated light of reality, we see, this has all been another illusion…just another fucking illusion.
The veil was lifted for me a little more that day. My eyes were opened to the grind, the struggle, the toiling and straining we subject ourselves to, in order to fit all of these uniquely shaped bodies into a very singular and precise silhouette. And this is a struggle because of the extraordinary amount of work that goes into making a thing that is THIS into THAT. Because in order to make something which is THIS into THAT, there must be a cutting away and smooshing together. You may have to severely maim, mutilate, or suffocate the thing to turn it into THAT…and you will most likely have to kill the thing, because after all the torture it takes to finally make the thing fit into THAT box, there is no room left for air and movement.
But that day I had to get up, close and personal, with the truth that my body…she is telling a story and that story is important. I had to reside inside my body, and let her BE as she is. No trappings, no covers to hide or smooth or make myself more palatable for others. No flattering jeans that hide my tummy. No bra to perk up my breasts. No t-shirt to cover my shoulders. No makeup to cover my age spots and shape my eyes to look bigger and more round. No long and flowing hair as my trusty security blanket. (If this isn’t a metaphor for the last few years of my life, I don’t know what is.)
I had to make a choice to bare it all and embrace that who I am is more than the projection of my body to others (which is a difficult thing to do when you’ve been told your whole life that your body is no more than a sexual stimulant, and the amount of sexual stimulation you are able to arouse is what provides your worth or your demise). My physical body, my emotional body, my intellect, as they truly are, are puzzle pieces that fit surely together to form a complex masterpiece, decades in the making. And when I’m disconnected from one, I am disconnected from the masterpiece.
And this masterpiece is dynamic, so it’s important to stay connected to my inner workings. Labels, titles, roles, beliefs, measurements, and temperaments change and fluctuate, everyday. Example: I used to be a very particular kind of Christian and that was one of the most important things to me about me, and something I never thought would be stripped from me. But it was, and yet I remained. This year, I am 10 lbs more than last, and still, you will see “Lisa” when I walk into a room. If I am no longer a daughter in the way I was a daughter before…if I am a mom today, but one day I will not be a mom…all of my roles of wife, assistant, writer, speaker, they can all change…then what remains? Presence remains. Consciousness remains. My BE-ing remains.
When we put so much emphasis on the way things look, the way our persona looks from the outside, we forget to pay attention to what’s TRUE-ly going on. When our energy and effort only go towards, and love of self only comes from, making the illusion prettier, we miss out on the actual thing that truly connects us and brings us belonging to ourselves and each other..our divinity and humanness, our triumph and struggle, our joy and pain, our inner light and inner darkness.
So, here’s to my 180 lb, 5’5″, half-korean, twice c-sectioned, twice miscarried, breast-pumped and depleted, tiger-striped body that has held my trauma, repressed emotions, and coping strategies, and stuck around for the healing. You are a wonderful, resilient, and powerful creation. Thank you for sharing your story with the world.