Of Strength and Beauty

I have always been strong. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t – when I couldn’t lift or throw whatever I wanted. That strength was unfortunately hidden behind some baby fat, later chubbiness, even into my teens and early twenties.

As a child of the 1970’s, my strength was simultaneously viewed with admiration and confusion by my family. No one knew where or from whom this innate strength came, nor what I “should” do with it.

My mother pressured my sisters and I to live up to her ideal of the feminine physique. This was accomplished both by her own example of nearly constant dieting as well as her comments. Some of what she said was subtle, and much was not. The message was clear: you need to be small to be feminine.

Like many young women of my time, I experimented. There was volleyball and track, at which I excelled. Softball, my sister’s sport, was elusive to me. Basketball wasn’t right for my average height and build. Cheerleading was fun, but not much of a challenge.

In young adulthood, I discovered weight lifting. Ah, now here was a place for me. I quickly learned the zen-like joy that came from counting the reps, feeling the weight, challenging myself. Seeing what was in the mirror reflect the strength I had always possessed, at last. And success was measured by what I could lift, not the size of my jeans.

My sisters, influenced by my mother’s words, found their bodies unable to meet the ideal. So they fought with themselves, resorting to bulimia and starvation to get down to the number on the scale they thought would make them feminine and therefore happy. But they weren’t happy.

I decided that if I could not be thin and healthy, I would be fat and happy. I would eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and revel in it.

And so I did. In a way, I was fighting with my body the same way my sisters had, but in a different way. I spent fifteen years being sedentary and putting on weight. I was carefree about eating, but not that much. I said that I accepted my body as it was, but I secretly wished I was smaller. Photos from those years are mostly pictures of my face as I hid behind other people in a group, or found some way to mask my size from the camera.

Many times, I thought of my excess weight as soft armor that I carried with me. I used it to keep people away, to challenge them to see me for who I really was despite the exterior.

Still, my strength was there, and when I was ready to change, it was what saved me. I started going to the gym and working out with a trainer. I learned that light weights don’t really do anything for me. I learned how to powerlift and found that I was good at it.

On impulse, I signed up for my first competition. I was so nervous, I was shaking. I didn’t have all the right equipment and had to borrow some from another competitor I’d never met. I loved every minute of it, and I even set a record. I was hooked.

That was followed by more training and more competitions, even the State Championships at which I set national records. The funny thing was – I was eating more than I had when I was heavy, but eating better, smarter. And I was getting leaner and stronger.

Around this time, I learned that I had more than just physical strength, but emotional and mental strength, too. If the “soft armor” was coming off, that was OK. I didn’t really need it.

In the last few years, all of my notions have been tested, and many of them supported. A lot of my excess weight came off, then some was put back on in the wake of my divorce. I’m still working on the right balance between work, training, and the rest of my life, which takes me to the time of my Femmeography photo shoot.

At first glance, I was tempted to be critical, even now, of the rolls and wrinkles that I wished weren’t there. So I stopped looking and waited a while before I looked at the pictures again.

On second and subsequent views, I see a woman who is strong. That’s not a surprise – I expected that.

What surprised me is that I also see a woman who has learned to be happy despite external circumstances. Someone who can still be goofy, playful, and childlike. And someone who is creative, sensual, and free. I didn’t expect that – but I cherish it.

If I could give advice to other women about their body image, I would say:

·        You are stronger and more beautiful than you think.

·        If you want to change your body (get stronger, healthier, leaner), love it the way it is first. Find something to appreciate about your body every day.

·        At the same time, your body is just the shell your soul inhabits. A beautiful exterior doesn’t counteract a withered soul, and vice-versa.

·        Every stage you are in is only temporary. If you can appreciate each stage for what it is, while not lamenting what it isn’t, you’ll be a lot happier.