.png)
As featured online @ Daily Telegraph on 28 December 2015
I sat in a hospital room and looked at a close relative through crying eyes. She lay on the bed fighting an eating disorder.
For the first time in my life I realised that I understood absolutely nothing about the female body image.
I got up to walk out, not wanting her to see my tears, but I stopped. Something about being family pulled me back in. I had no idea what to do or say. I’d never felt so helpless. But I was going to remain strong, provide encouragement, and talk about the upcoming season of Pretty Little Liars as a way of distracting her from the hell she was going through.
With my laptop under my arm, I decided to put together a paintbrush card for her upcoming birthday, in an attempt to try to make her feel better.
Then I left. I had to fly back home for work.
I’d been told of the mental battle, the anxiety and the stress that the illness caused, yet I still didn’t fully understand.
And then thoughts of sadness and confusion became thoughts of anger.
“She’s not allowed to walk? She has to be pushed around in a wheelchair for fear of her heart rate climbing too high? What the bloody hell has society done to my favourite person in the world. This is bulls***.”
That’s right. My first reaction was to blame society.
My flight home was delayed. I sat in the airport for three hours trying to unscramble what was going on inside my head.
How could I be so naïve? Easy. I’d never looked at magazine covers let alone bought them, I’d never watched red carpet arrivals and I’m not on Instagram.
With little exposure to such mediums I just simply wasn’t aware that the female body image was that big of a deal.
The three days prior had opened my eyes. And sitting in that airport and then on the plane, I was determined to gain a better understanding of how and why a woman’s body shape had become such an influential factor in how she valued herself.
I flicked through dozens of websites trying to find information provided by those qualified to make comment. I was shattered to find that the responsibility lay with three key parties:
1. The media.
2. Family and friends.
3. Men.
I felt sick. Sick with guilt. I was all three of those things.
Of course I’m responsible. I wasn’t aware of it, but I was contributing to the issue every day. I didn’t observe the flight safety instructions from the air hostess because I didn’t know them. I observed them because the air hostess was cute.
The self-reflection continued. I had two options — I could see myself as pathetic, go over all the times my words and actions mirrored the “mags”, the red carpet or Instagram … or I could right my wrongs.
I couldn’t change the media, I couldn’t lead a single gender to change its perceptions, but I could improve myself and maybe influence a few others. Start out as one voice, and hope to end up with a chorus of voices.
I never felt bad about telling my female friends they looked nice, because I knew my intentions were pure. What I didn’t know was that there were so many other ways I could have been complimentary.
“Your son loves you so much. Look at his eyes whenever you’re around. It’s like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Ever.”
“If our workplace was a netball team, and sometimes I like to think that we are, you’d be team captain. I don’t know if you notice, but people rise up under your leadership. That’s pretty cool.”
“I don’t think nurses get the thanks they deserve. I sometimes forget to help put the bins out. You help people when they’re sick. You help me when I’m sick. Kind-hearted doesn’t even begin to describe that.”
A change in attitude — it was only something small on the surface, but as I scratched a little deeper
I found something bigger. It was saying something nice about character and not characteristic that changed my behaviour, and developed my understanding toward the female body image.
With that it actually made me feel different on the inside. It’s hard to describe. Kind of like when you help a lady with a pram down a set of stairs.
I was realistic. As the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu once said: “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”.
This was just the first step to “bettering” myself.
I have to admit to this very day I’m still learning; I’m still trying to better my understanding of the female body image and I’m still trying to place less emphasis on aesthetics and more emphasis on heart and soul.
Because, without sounding like a preacher, that’s what makes you special — the way you love, not the way you look.
As for my favourite person in the world… she’s back on the right track. She knows I love her because of her heart and soul, she knows I love her because she’s funny, loyal, humble and scholarly. Yes, scholarly… she aced high school and progressed to tertiary.
And with that I felt the need to watch an episode of Pretty Little Liars, and put together another paintbrush card.
Because…
Related Posts
