Sugar & Spice continued....

Part Two: If these thoughts confuse you, see entry Part One.

First is the exterior pressure from the media and cultural expectations at large. Here I am taught that my beauty is defined by pencil-thin thighs, Angelina Jolie lips, and a back-side that can squeeze into Baby-Gap jeans. “They” know what’s best for me.

I adamantly reject “their” standards. I reject it so adamantly in fact, because truth be told, sometimes I buy into it. There’s resolve in the way beauty is presented, as if my self-esteem has been pre-determined and it’s outside my own will to decide for myself how I feel about me. There’s a tenacious grip on my head and my heart. There are times I get confused with what I truly want.

So I pause to ponder what my true “wants” are and try very hard to think very little of what the media wants as payback for my participation in this universe. Pause. I still want my body back. I’ve still got my sugar and spice but not everything’s-so-nice. I’d like to wear size X, I’d like slender arms, I’d like to be happy, even pleased, with a family portrait. I do feel good when I’m at my peak of fitness. I do feel good when I trade the “fat jeans” for the skinnier ones.

Does this then mean that I’ve “caved” to the demands of the “beautiful people”? In one way, I don’t believe I have. Reason being is because what “they” and their unreachable standards say, are insignificantly puny compared to the unreachable standards I have set for myself. These in themselves can be lofty and unrealistic. I really don’t need the media to convince me I want more—I have just enough dissatisfaction in Me to do that on my own. I must learn to be okay with Me. I cannot control what the media says about my butt, I do have a say in what my head says about my… well, you know.

Furthermore, is it possible that sometimes what I want can at the same time be what the world wants? Sometimes. Absolutely. The difference then must come my heart and with what I know is good for Me. If I was given one moment of clarity, I’d see beyond social pressure and realize that this is about being true to what I want, to what really brings me joy. The world does NOT own Me. It will not define my happiness.

That second in time comes and goes throughout the day. What I’m working on is to change that one second into a long-life and always intentional habit, where I am able to do that thing which makes me happy. Pure intentions all the way, not for Angelina or Baby Gap. Sometimes I may choose something the world also happens to applaud (a firmer body post pregnancy, for example) and at other times I may want something polar opposite from their standards. And as long as I keep my head and my mind and my heart clear from the idiocy of the head-games, then I’m okay with that.

So getting pregnant was simply a jump-start to a life-long process of refining my mind and re-defining my image of self. While the head-games didn’t dissolve like sugar, my pregnancy did fuel this impatience against them. I’m finally ready to enter the boxing ring.

And when will I win my battle? Probably when I’m 101 years old. Until then, I’ll take my sugar and spice and even my everything’s-not-so-nice, thank you very much.