I sign up for a Body Image class at 11 am and by 4:30 I am sitting in the classroom, palms sweating.Ā We are asked to make a list of the attributes of the perfect woman. Why is it that the first word on my list is thin? WeĀ summarize her in size and color. Tall, thin, blonde, tan. I am none of these things. We are then asked to make a list of the costs associated with becoming this woman. "Not just the money," My professor makes sure to point out, "The social costs, the psychological costs, emotional costs. Don't forget about those too." MyĀ embarrassment at my inability to fit into this mold of the perfect woman soon turns into another kind ofĀ embarrassment,Ā embarrassment for the things in life I have given up to look like this woman.Ā I amĀ embarrassed that going to aĀ restaurant takes hours of preparation. First, research of the menu and calories, then aĀ serious talk with myself to make sure I don't overeat, and lastly a recognition that people will actually be watching me eat in a public space. I amĀ embarrassed at the time cut short with my friends inĀ high school. The times I left sleepovers early to go workout, couldn't do fun thingsĀ that required eating bad food or showing too much skin. I amĀ embarrassed at the comparisons made between myself and others. TheĀ mean voice in my head that compares my thighs to every single girlĀ I walk by. I am soĀ embarrassed at the time, money, and energy I have spent trying to look a certain way. I amĀ embarrassed that I cannot simply accept myself for the beautiful person I am. Someone who is not the "perfect" woman.
Excerpts from the book Iāll never write
