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Sunday, June 4, 2006
An ideal woman
I remember being bathed by my mother in the sink.
In the sink. Naked body held up in the sink by hands. Did my body
trust those hands? Sometimes my mom and I bathed together when I
was little. She'd shave her legs, and I'd try to shave my legs, too.
I hated having my hair brushed. It hurt. It tangled and hurt when
the brush was pulled through my hair. I remember being on the sofa
with my grandparents and other people in the room. Company. I sat
with my legs apart, and my skirt high up on my thighs, and when my
grandfather told me not to sit like that, I remember feeling
shame.
I want to stop wearing so much black. I had a vision
of myself in hiking boots and shorts with strong, tan thighs, laughing
and wearing linen. Definitely linen. I wear too much black, and
I always tighten up. Hunch over. When I imagined my ideal self once,
I saw myself sitting tightly, with my arms wrapped around my legs.
I thought it would be wonderful
to be that flexible and compact. And young. The person I imagined
as my ideal self was probably 25. See any problems there? I've never
had a realistic image of myself. My mother's image of an ideal woman
is young. She was at her pinnacle when she was in her 20s, and she's
still trying to get back there, whereas these are the halcyon days
for me.
So I've been revising my image of my ideal self
to something more reasonable and true. The other day, I suddenly
saw myself as role model. A strong, brave woman who's smart and kind
with hands that comfort and stroke. No more tightness and compression
for me. I want/need more pysical expansion. So would I have to be
bigger to expand? What does it mean to take up space? I see myself
outside, in a garden, with the sun on my skin. Suspension of disbelief.
Remember my body. I remember.
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