09-18-09
i forget the last time i felt brave, i just recall insecurity
Yesterday my sweet friend Ashley came over so she could go shopping in my closet (our 10 year high school reunion is this weekend….10 years! More about that later). She brought her two beautiful daughters, Addison and Aliva. Alivia is almost 2 and just sweet and cuddly and into everything and it freaks me out that she can talk because in my head she’s still a baby. Addison is a teenager in an 8-year-old body…not because she acts too grown up, but because she is dramatic and fun and loves the Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana and sometimes she cops an attitude that i recognize from when I was 16. (She reminds me a lot of myself, actually…good luck with that, Ashley).
As Ashley was trying on clothes we kept up our usual stream of conversation while Addie was doing her homework (English grammar, my fave!) and Alivia was “watching” Toy Story on my laptop. The conversation went something like this:
Me: See I bought this one dress and decided not to wear it because it shows my arms. I hate my arms. So I’m wearing this dress instead.*
Ashley: I know I so hate my arms too so my dress has sleeves. But there’s always cardigans!
Me: I know that’s why I have so many cardis because I hate my arms.
Imagine a conversation between two women who have been friends for 14ish years, so talking really fast, a lot of “I KNOW!” and “ME TOO!” etc.
But then 8 -year-old Addie pipes up and it was like the world went into slow motion: I KNOW! I hate my arms too! That’s why I always wear this jacket.
I wanted to stop and rewind and take back the entire “I hate my arms” conversation. I wanted to cover her ears with my hands and tell her how sorry I was that we projected our jacked-up body image issues on her. I wasn’t even paying attention to her at that moment but she was soaking up every single word we said.
My own body image issues come from years of watching women around me go on diet after diet, coupled with reading too much celebrity gossip and allowing that to set my standard. Add in living in New York+working in fashion and I’d say I come by the ‘ole body hatred naturally…but it’s NOT okay for me to pass that down to Addison. She doesn’t deserve it. And really, neither do Ashley or I.
Ashley and I talked about it this morning (and of course I got her permission to write about this) and she made the point that right now, she is responsible for Addison’s self image. So simple, yet so profound. SO TRUE.
I don’t want anyone growing up and feeling the same way I do about my body. We have GOT to do better than this. I don’t know how to have a healthy body image…or a healthy self image in general. But I know that I want to change it. For Addison. For my future children. For myself, once and for all.
*In case you’re curious…this is the one I bought to wear, but I’m wearing this one instead.
09-11-09
it’s 9/11. i am a new yorker.
i wrote this on sept 11, 2006.
You can see it in the little things, the cheesy memorabilia. The American flag pins subtly displayed on their lapels. But we [I say "we," but i've only been here 3 months] New Yorkers did what we normally do on Monday morning. We woke up. We ate breakfast. Stopped at Starbucks. Walked to work. We took the train, the ferry, even boarded planes. We laughed, we talked. We checked our myspace and our email and CNN.com. Some of us, I’m sure, shed tears. We discussed. We remembered where we were 5 years ago when the first plane hit, then the second.
Yes, today I was a little wary. I paid a little more attention to my surroundings, but mostly to their faces – wondering if it was sadness or indifference that was reflected there.
The train stopped at 8:46 and the conductor asked everyone to take a moment of silence in memory of those who lost their lives that day. New York rarely – if ever – stops, so it was definitely a tribute. All i could think was that there had to be so much pain that day. And then how God must have created so much beauty from those ashes…because that’s what He does.
In 2001 i didn’t know half the people on my speed dial. I didn’t really even know me – I was only 20, and I think it’s next to impossible to know yourself at 20. (In fact, I think I knew myself better when I was 17 than I did at 20…) It’s amazing how much life can change. I was still in school. i was working at a daycare. I didn’t know Jesus the way I do now. Scratch that…I didn’t love Jesus the way I do now. Since the day I decided to follow Him no matter what, whatever it took, my life couldn’t have been better if I had written the story myself.
I would have never dreamed that I would live in China, teach 8th grade, or move to New York City. I think, above all else, that I’m glad to be here today. I’m honored to be a part of this city. i’m honored to call New York my home.
09-01-09
and the water is rising quick (part III)
we’re not telling people. only family. when you tell people, they freak out.
when you tell people, it becomes real.
“God’s hand is all over this,” she says. It is. Of course it is.
*****************
we wait almost a week for the tests to come back. it was the longest few days of my life.
a phone call. she’s crying. “benign,” she says. my relief is almost as physical as the burden. i can’t talk much. don’t know what to say.
thank you thank you thank you thank you…..
*****************
it doesn’t even feel real, but something has permanently shifted—my faith, my trust. the airplane might fall out of the sky but His hand is over and under the plane.