Theme: Determine personal wants/needs/likes outside of external input.
I know you all thought that I'd forgotten you already, but in truth, I just needed some time out of my own head. As it is, I think way too much about way too many silly things, and this is really messing with my mind. On top of that, the current climate in our country regarding women's bodily autonomy has made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on much without becoming livid.
But this isn't a political blog; it's a blog about a woman trying to come to grips with her very unhealthy relationship with herself and the men she's loved.
Part of that unhealthy relationship with herself... er, myself... is in how I look and portray myself. A bit of background: when I was young and adorably cute, I used that in a variety of ways, many of which make this grown woman cry sometimes. It wasn't uncommon to doll myself up and flirt to get free drinks, free movies, etc. It's amazing what a guy will do for a cute girl he thinks might like him. Which, okay, that's kind of on him, but it's not like I didn't know what I was doing, too. Manipulation was my game, and I was a master player.
When my first marriage broke up - as did the codependent rebound relationship that followed stupidly soon after - I realized how much of a chameleon I was and had always been. I morphed into the person I thought my paramours wanted me to be. I liked what they liked. I laughed at the things that they laughed at. I became The Perfect Girl for them. Sound familiar? How many of us have done - and maybe still do - this? I'd guess too many.
In answer to this, I decided to be Mom first, and everything else second. I rarely dolled myself up anymore, and when I did, it was for a night out with My Guy. Flirting flew by the way side. In fact, I pretty much forgot what flirting was like, or why I'd ever done it. Moms didn't flirt. Moms didn't get sexy. Moms were just.. moms. Plain ole ladies with gray hair, chubby waistlines, and practically nothing to remind themselves that at one time they were Women first. And I did this for 20 years.
I set aside my womanlyness. Sometimes, on a lark, I'd dig out a fancy dress and put on some make-up, but after a while, that felt silly. Like I was play-acting at being a woman. My husband told me that I was pretty, which was enough-ish validation. Until he chose a couple of prostitutes instead of me. Then... well.... things got tricky.
Then I felt like I couldn't be pretty. I couldn't be sexy. I couldn't be anything but this old gray haired, chubby mom who was well past her prime. Who would pick me when my own husband preferred to pay someone else than be with me?
The self-pity has been pretty prevalent since then. Every once in a while I've thought, "I'm still cute! I'm still someone desirable!" But it doesn't last. With my most recent break-up where I was told that I'm a great friend... but not a good romantic partner for him... Yeah... you get it.
Today, during a particularly woe-is-me rough patch, I reached out to my best friend via text. I told her how I felt ugly, fat, and wholly unattractive. She said, "I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you." I blinked.
In commiseration, she told me that she, too, felt ugly, fat, and wholly unattractive. And somewhere in my mind a light went on.
You see, when I think of my best friend, I think of her gorgeous smile that fills the room. I see her beautiful skin, her stunning eyes, and her laugh that you can't help but join in on. She's intelligent, funny as hell, and sexy. I mean flat out sex-ay. And somehow she just doesn't see it. How is that even possible??
I suppose it's the same way that I can't see myself as she does. And that's a serious flaw in our make-up, hers and mine, and at a guess, in so many other women. We see where we fail, where we're not young anymore, or thin, or adorable. Where our skin might sag a bit, or our teeth are a bit more yellow than we'd like. We see the wrinkles around our mouths that now require lip liner, something I didn't understand the need for at 25 but at nearly 50 won't go without if I'm wearing lipstick.
Part of me wants to ignore all those flaws and just... camp it up. Wear make-up that makes me feel pretty. Put on a fun dress with high heels or strappy sandals and hit the city. Act like I'm 22 again, single, childless, and the only care is getting home safely.
Another part of me thinks, "Yeah, that would be a sight."
Why do we sabotage ourselves so harshly, so cruelly? Why do we treat ourselves in a way we would never let our friends be treated?
I admit that a huge part of my reticence is based in fear of looking ridiculous. I'm terrified of looking like a sad, fat, old woman who's trying far too hard to retain her youth. I've never been one to wear a lot of make-up, so if I start now, will I look silly? I love playing dress up, but does that really suit this personality that I've spent years cultivating of a Strong Independent Woman who doesn't need to impress some man? Does dressing up and trying to look pretty make me part of the Patriarchy Problem?
These are the weirdnesses that I grapple with. If I try to look pretty - and relearn to flirt - do I then become part of the problem that I've spent a lifetime trying to fix so that my daughter can have a bit of an easier time? Or is it just fun frivolity that everyone needs a bit more of today? Can I look pretty just for me? If so, what does that look like? Do I have to lose weight to feel pretty? Am I doing that just for me, or because some guy will find me more attractive? Does looking pretty have to include make-up, the stuff that has always been used to attract a man?
This being a woman in 2019 is a world away from what it was in 1989 when I first learned it. Thirty years have taught me a lot, most of which is how little I actually know. I don't know what I'm doing for me anymore, and what I'm doing because it's what society has taught me is appropriate for me. I don't know what I like, or what I think is appropriate because I've only ever seen myself through the lens of a patriarchal society, or of a man I was trying to attract.
And if I decide that I really don't want to do all of that stuff, that I want to be in jeans and a flannel shirt, chubby, clean-faced and gray-haired... does that mean that I'll be alone forever because I'm not "pretty" or "desirable" to a man?
Where and how do I even begin to figure it out for myself?
This woman thing... it's so damn hard.
I know you all thought that I'd forgotten you already, but in truth, I just needed some time out of my own head. As it is, I think way too much about way too many silly things, and this is really messing with my mind. On top of that, the current climate in our country regarding women's bodily autonomy has made it nearly impossible for me to concentrate on much without becoming livid.
But this isn't a political blog; it's a blog about a woman trying to come to grips with her very unhealthy relationship with herself and the men she's loved.
Part of that unhealthy relationship with herself... er, myself... is in how I look and portray myself. A bit of background: when I was young and adorably cute, I used that in a variety of ways, many of which make this grown woman cry sometimes. It wasn't uncommon to doll myself up and flirt to get free drinks, free movies, etc. It's amazing what a guy will do for a cute girl he thinks might like him. Which, okay, that's kind of on him, but it's not like I didn't know what I was doing, too. Manipulation was my game, and I was a master player.
When my first marriage broke up - as did the codependent rebound relationship that followed stupidly soon after - I realized how much of a chameleon I was and had always been. I morphed into the person I thought my paramours wanted me to be. I liked what they liked. I laughed at the things that they laughed at. I became The Perfect Girl for them. Sound familiar? How many of us have done - and maybe still do - this? I'd guess too many.
In answer to this, I decided to be Mom first, and everything else second. I rarely dolled myself up anymore, and when I did, it was for a night out with My Guy. Flirting flew by the way side. In fact, I pretty much forgot what flirting was like, or why I'd ever done it. Moms didn't flirt. Moms didn't get sexy. Moms were just.. moms. Plain ole ladies with gray hair, chubby waistlines, and practically nothing to remind themselves that at one time they were Women first. And I did this for 20 years.
I set aside my womanlyness. Sometimes, on a lark, I'd dig out a fancy dress and put on some make-up, but after a while, that felt silly. Like I was play-acting at being a woman. My husband told me that I was pretty, which was enough-ish validation. Until he chose a couple of prostitutes instead of me. Then... well.... things got tricky.
Then I felt like I couldn't be pretty. I couldn't be sexy. I couldn't be anything but this old gray haired, chubby mom who was well past her prime. Who would pick me when my own husband preferred to pay someone else than be with me?
The self-pity has been pretty prevalent since then. Every once in a while I've thought, "I'm still cute! I'm still someone desirable!" But it doesn't last. With my most recent break-up where I was told that I'm a great friend... but not a good romantic partner for him... Yeah... you get it.
Today, during a particularly woe-is-me rough patch, I reached out to my best friend via text. I told her how I felt ugly, fat, and wholly unattractive. She said, "I wish you could see yourself the way that I see you." I blinked.
In commiseration, she told me that she, too, felt ugly, fat, and wholly unattractive. And somewhere in my mind a light went on.
You see, when I think of my best friend, I think of her gorgeous smile that fills the room. I see her beautiful skin, her stunning eyes, and her laugh that you can't help but join in on. She's intelligent, funny as hell, and sexy. I mean flat out sex-ay. And somehow she just doesn't see it. How is that even possible??
I suppose it's the same way that I can't see myself as she does. And that's a serious flaw in our make-up, hers and mine, and at a guess, in so many other women. We see where we fail, where we're not young anymore, or thin, or adorable. Where our skin might sag a bit, or our teeth are a bit more yellow than we'd like. We see the wrinkles around our mouths that now require lip liner, something I didn't understand the need for at 25 but at nearly 50 won't go without if I'm wearing lipstick.
Part of me wants to ignore all those flaws and just... camp it up. Wear make-up that makes me feel pretty. Put on a fun dress with high heels or strappy sandals and hit the city. Act like I'm 22 again, single, childless, and the only care is getting home safely.
Another part of me thinks, "Yeah, that would be a sight."
Why do we sabotage ourselves so harshly, so cruelly? Why do we treat ourselves in a way we would never let our friends be treated?
I admit that a huge part of my reticence is based in fear of looking ridiculous. I'm terrified of looking like a sad, fat, old woman who's trying far too hard to retain her youth. I've never been one to wear a lot of make-up, so if I start now, will I look silly? I love playing dress up, but does that really suit this personality that I've spent years cultivating of a Strong Independent Woman who doesn't need to impress some man? Does dressing up and trying to look pretty make me part of the Patriarchy Problem?
These are the weirdnesses that I grapple with. If I try to look pretty - and relearn to flirt - do I then become part of the problem that I've spent a lifetime trying to fix so that my daughter can have a bit of an easier time? Or is it just fun frivolity that everyone needs a bit more of today? Can I look pretty just for me? If so, what does that look like? Do I have to lose weight to feel pretty? Am I doing that just for me, or because some guy will find me more attractive? Does looking pretty have to include make-up, the stuff that has always been used to attract a man?
This being a woman in 2019 is a world away from what it was in 1989 when I first learned it. Thirty years have taught me a lot, most of which is how little I actually know. I don't know what I'm doing for me anymore, and what I'm doing because it's what society has taught me is appropriate for me. I don't know what I like, or what I think is appropriate because I've only ever seen myself through the lens of a patriarchal society, or of a man I was trying to attract.
And if I decide that I really don't want to do all of that stuff, that I want to be in jeans and a flannel shirt, chubby, clean-faced and gray-haired... does that mean that I'll be alone forever because I'm not "pretty" or "desirable" to a man?
Where and how do I even begin to figure it out for myself?
This woman thing... it's so damn hard.
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