I’m not sure how often or even clearly I was fed this line, but somewhere in childhood, I came to believe that I could not be attractive without bangs. I believed this through my early 20s, suffering the torments of rain, wind, fog, and humidity for the sake of looking my best.
Somewhere after college, however, that line began to wobble, and I felt constantly hidden and frustrated by the bangs I had worn for so long. I wanted the freedom to walk in the rain without worry. I wanted to get up in the morning without my eyelashes catching the strands that would reach them after sleep. I wanted the way I looked on the outside to more closely resemble the freedom I was coming to feel internally (my fine hair required bangs to be coaxed and sprayed into place).
So I grew them out.
Can I just tell you I still feel giddy, to this day, about that decision? It was a move toward something I wanted, rather than away from something I feared.
Fast-forward to last summer. It’s hot out, and the kids and I are going to the beach. In addition to spider veins, my legs have developed full-fledged varicosities, bulging masses on both of them. My height and accompanying history of feeling watched has made me self-conscious about wearing short shorts anyway, but add these veins to the mix and I’m sentenced to a lifetime of skirts and capris every summer, no matter the heat.
But on this particular day I’m so hot. And my swim suit bottom is actually made as short shorts. And I know that in addition to wrangling two intractable preschoolers, I’ll be carrying so much gear from our car to the sea that the thought of wearing capris over top of my swimsuit, as per my usual practice, makes me want to faint.
And a slow, sheepish smile creeps across my face as I realize that no one really cares what my legs look like. (Why have I not thought of this before?) I’m not trying to win beauty contests here, anyway. I’m not trying to trick some unsuspecting man into loving me for my looks. And considering the company I’m keeping on this day, and the bags of sand toys and sun block and tupperwares of snacks, I’m probably not eye-catching material for anyone, regardless of my physique.
So by god, I wore my swimsuit shorts without covering them up. I walked down the street with my gaggle of kids and gear, white, veiny legs blinking and glowing in sunlight, exhilarated by the freedom I’d just discovered.
I made a move toward something I wanted, rather than away from something I feared.
And I’m wondering: do you have lines like I’ve had in my life…like I continue to have…about what you surely can and cannot do with your body? Ways you simply must wear or color your hair, colors of fabrics you have to avoid, cuts of clothing or shoes that can’t ever be worn by you?
Or maybe your lines are about activities that are off limits for you and your size/shape/race/athletic (in)ability: dancing; yoga; sports; zumba. Or how about swimming in public places? Revealing that tattoo you had done in your youth? Oral sex with your beloved?
How does it feel when you bump up against the fences that these lines create around your living? Do you ever look longingly past them to the other side? Do you ever daydream about actually wandering out past them, shudder at how it would feel or come across, and dutifully obey the lines another day?
Here’s what I want to tell myself and all of us about such things:
Those lines you’ve always believed about your body and what you can and cannot do with it? They aren’t set in stone. They may not even be true! And the more you’re able to live into the life you want, rather than live to avoid the shame you fear, the better all of us are for it.
The more we can peer out from our hiding places (long pants, padded bras, full-coverage make-up, slimming undergarments, hair dye, eyelash extensions, too-busy-to-take-that-dance-class-excuses, et al) and see people comfortably embodying their actual size, shape, color, texture, and (dis)ability, rather than working to stifle or cover it all over, the more freedom we’ll all feel to step, as we are, into the light of day. Or, as it were, the beautiful darkness of night.
Want to try a baby step beyond your lines already? I’d love to hear about (almost :) any steps you take! Large or amusingly small, I will celebrate whole-heartedly with you!
P.S. I love the way this song flips lines about wrinkles on their head (click here to listen if audio player doesn’t appear below). Surely songs like this could be written about all of the “lines” that we carry!
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Everything Belongs
Seasons are universal. Treat yours uniquely.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this post. It really “spoke” to me. I am riddled with such hangups. Want/NEED to let them go and cross those lines.
My big discovery lately? I don’t have to wash my hair every single day! If I skip a day, and brush it out well, and put it in a ponytail, I look FINE. I feel FINE!
Comment by Camilla — June 24, 2011 @ 3:57 amCamilla, woohoo on the not washing your hair every day! Little things like that are such HUGE discoveries! Celebrating with you over here. :)
Comment by Kristin — June 24, 2011 @ 4:20 amBangs! My mom told me when I was younger that I had a big forehead and a long face and that I should wear bangs. I am 40 and still have bangs – I grew them out once and it was OK. Hmm something to consider…your post has inspired me.
Comment by Michelle — June 24, 2011 @ 4:51 amMichelle, I think I was told something similar. I suppose it’s possible to try out alternatives to the “lines” we believe and actually decide for ourselves that we agree with those lines, and find them life-giving. Maybe it’s the cases where we *don’t* agree, at heart, or just want the freedom of doing something even if it isn’t the most attractive thing we could do, that I’m thinking about here. Something is so gorgeous and hopeful, to me, about seeing people do what brings them LIFE, rather than worrying a lot about what other people will think of them.
Comment by Kristin — June 24, 2011 @ 5:11 amI started running this year: and I know exactly what you mean about throwing myself into it! It has been amazingly freeing; and I’m not sure why, other than, I believed for so long that I couldn’t do it: I’m not an athlete, I’m not strong, I don’t have endurance. For years everyone told me I was the strongest person they knew, as I had a divorce, etc., but here I am: physically able to do something like run! Cheers to me!!!!
Comment by Ellen — June 24, 2011 @ 5:17 amYes, Ellen, cheers to you!!!! Waving my pom-poms along your running route now! :)
Comment by Kristin — June 24, 2011 @ 6:48 amKristin, I love this post! I’m cheering for your courage moments, and feeling that giddy feeling of choosing from the inside-out…moving toward the wanted rather than away from the unwanted. Here’s a story of one such moment for me:
Body hair is something I have a lot of. Pale skin, dark hair–and a lot of it grows on my legs and arms. I was 12 when I was allowed to shave my legs. What a relief to quit being a gorilla and join the rest of the girls. (And also what a lot of work! And nicked ankles.) Shaving my legs became a daily practice because my hair grows so fast a morning shave would be evening stubbles.
Then, at age 26, standing in the shower, a new thought occurred to me. I asked myself: “why do I do this?” Hmmm. So I decided to leave the razor be until I had a good reason for what I was doing. (To my mother’s chagrin) I never went back. I strode right forward into a life of liberated hairyness…and have been living with my true legs (and armpits!) for nearly a decade a now.
It feels good. Which isn’t to say I’m never self-conscious. On vacation in Hawaii…I felt that junior high shyness vividly. I stick out boldly against the rest of the smooth-skinned sunbathers. But there is comfort in the boldness of being my true, hairy, liberated self that keeps moving in the direction of embracing the beauty of being a human animal…part of this wild planet. I’ve long ago left behind nylons and following my heart takes me more and more into the places where people don’t care about body hair…and less and less into the scenarios where people do.
One summer evening a couple years ago, standing in shorts, I felt the light breeze tickling my leg hair–and found it a pleasurable sensation. That’s when I knew I would never go back, and that I had stepped into a peace with my body and connection with the earth and embodiment that I couldn’t yet describe. Perhaps, I will be describing it soon.
Comment by Karah Fisher Madrone — June 24, 2011 @ 8:13 amKarah, what a beautiful story! *Thank you* for sharing it. How wonderfully liberating it must be to not take all that extra time every day to shave…or worry if you didn’t!
What strikes me as I read your words, too, is that crossing some lines takes more courage than others. Coming to peace with leg hair in this society feels like it’d take more courage than, say, wearing no bangs. But maybe even that is subjective, and depends on the level of taboo any of us carries around certain body things.
Comment by Kristin — June 24, 2011 @ 2:56 pmOne of the lines I have crossed was going to Zumba class with women who are decades younger, and to my eyes, much more coordinated. I thought all the 20, 30 and 40 somethings would be wondering, “what is that Granny doing in here?” (Actually I’m a great granny)
Then one day I heard the cute little instructor say to stay our of our heads so much. To not fret about getting every step right as long as we were moving our body and having fun.
So I decided to try and get out of my head about what anyone thought. That’s when I realized nobody was giving ANY thought to me. Either they were struggling to keep up or they were lost in the music. -and having fun. All my anxiety was self-imposed!
Lines are everywhere–what we are supposed to do, how we are supposed to look and act. But in my life time I have seen many of them blur, many of them move and some have been removed altogether .
I intend to keep moving (lines) as long as this body will allow it.
Comment by Fritzy — June 24, 2011 @ 4:53 pmFritzy, your story makes me so happy. I’m grinning ear to ear. I’m with you in spirit now, as you dance away at zumba, with pom poms and a new lightness in my own step.
I think you’re so right, too: most of our anxiety, usually, is self-imposed. People are much more consumed with worry about how THEY look than they are about how WE look (I guess we are our own best examples of this! :).
Thanks so much for sharing.
Comment by Kristin — June 24, 2011 @ 5:15 pmThe line I am learning to cross is the one that allows me to just have fun in zumba and cardio funk class, to allow myself to just go for it.
Here’s the thing: I’m a 45 year old, 5’10″ african-american woman – with many of the insecurities and worries that you brought up about being tall plus the added feature of being black which adds its own set of body conscious issues in this American society I live in. I’ve always been told and believed that because I am black I’m supposed to be able to dance well. And I do okay, but not great. So I’ve always held back in workout classes; I just work out. I don’t try to dance too well or let myself go. I don’t want anyone to look at me and think: “but she’s black. she’s supposed to be able to dance better than that.”
Lately I’ve decided to watch the other folks in the classes I take and I have come to see that there are men and women of all ages, skin colors, sizes – and most of them seem to be having a blast, whether or not they “dance well.” Who am I to judge whether or not anyone is a good dancer – even if the person I am judging is myself? In addition, I have begun to ask myself what it even means to “dance well.” And who cares anyway? Who the heck cares?
Nowadays, I dance and laugh and jump around and make funny faces at my 17 year old daughter – who doesn’t seem to mind at all. She dances more wildly too. Why not? What do I have to lose besides a few more inhibitions and an extra inch or two around my waist?
Comment by GailNHB — June 24, 2011 @ 5:36 pmGail, I love the whole process you’ve described. I feel like I’ve just gotten a taste of the freedom you’re talking about just by reading the progression.
And, like Karah, above, I feel like you’ve touched on one of those cultural things that feels like more of a challenge to face than some others – yours being the feelings around being black in the midst of other races. The normal insecurities I carry around about being watched or sticking out always pale in comparison to how I feel when I’m the racial minority in a social situation.
Some day I hope we can sit down for tea and talk about these things together.
Comment by Kristin — June 24, 2011 @ 7:46 pmI LOVE this! When I was a pre-teen, I had a friend who had very very long hair, down past her bottom. And she got so much attention for it, and after a few months of being around here I began to conclude that long hair = beauty. And from then on, I had long hair. And it did attract a ton of attention. But it was a pain in the butt and I didn’t love it and it made my life fairly fussy and even miserable from time to time (I was a distance swimmer, so it was really a detriment in a lot of ways). I actually began to use my long hair as a place to hide.
In graduate school, I finally cut it all off and donated it. AND WHAT LIBERATION! I wish I had done it sooner. But for years I figured if I had long long hair, then I would somehow find the “missing piece” I felt was lost. And, obvously, my hair was never long enough to do that. But I can’t believe I forgot my own story/experience, so reading this made me realize “duh!” I have so many dumb hang ups I’ve collected along the way. I think I need to examine them and clean out that closet. Thank you for the nudge and the great post!
Comment by chel — June 25, 2011 @ 8:16 amChel, YES!!! Sometimes I feel like we’re all baby chicks in childhood, imprinting things from people we admire and having no clue that those aren’t things (values, habits, styles) we need to emulate through life. YEEHAAWW for the freedom you found with your hair!!
I want to clean out my closet, too!
Comment by Kristin — June 25, 2011 @ 8:46 amThis is incredibly liberating! Thank you. Yes, there are so many things I think my body can’t wear now that it is no longer 95 pounds, but these are just stories.
Thanks for the reminder to run TO something. So joyous!
Comment by Pamela — June 27, 2011 @ 11:42 amYay! You’re welcome, Pamela!! :)
(And watch the mail come Wednesday. Treats are now en route!)
Comment by Kristin — June 27, 2011 @ 2:06 pm[...] the day of Gus’s milestone, we had a party, inspired by Kristin Noelle’s recent post. For once in my life, I was going to run towards something and not away. As Gus dealt the cards for [...]
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