I’m always looking to find new ways to look at things…and one that is continually in my face, so to speak, is…well…my face.
Well, my head.
Okay, so my “hair.”
Y’know, when I’d first oathed to keep my hair shorn until the end of this year, I thought to myself: “Hey, ladyself…this is gonna be a *great* way to learn some really hard lessons about perspective in relation to appearance, worth and esteem!”
I knew it would be hard. I have placed a lot of effort and interest in my appearance over the course of my life because I’ve either been bullied because of it, or woo’d into lust and love because of it.
Now at the beginning of May…a mere four months have passed since my uttered words…and I’ve sure-as-shit come to some interesting perspectives thus far.
1. I am surprised at how many people like “the look.” Apparently, I have a great skull. Yay, genetics! 😉
2. Little kids automatically assume I have cancer. In all fairness, some of the kids are friends of my kids and they already know that I’m sick, so 1+1=cancer.
3. Men grin at me…because they have the same shorn-ness. It’s like a “Props, Brah…”…but, like…ya.
4. Women comment that they love it, and often because they wish they could do the same thing. I’m all, “Do it.” It’s a choice. Not doing it is a choice. It’s hair. It grows back.
Then I see photos of me, like at a wedding I attended this past weekend, and I cry.
What I see in the photos aren’t how I see myself when I look in the mirror, and it confuses me.
I’ve been getting more and more used to the shorn look and, often, I find I’m really enjoying it. I mean, I can wear lipgloss on a windy day, yo’!
Must be an angle thing?
I felt I was bloat-y, my back brace was on…and I look at myself and I thought, “Where is the empowered woman of awesome?” Why was I homely and…truth be told…plump as a rump?
The shorn-ness accentuated my round face shape…which oh-so-kindly seemed to bring out the roundness of the Everything Else.
I admit, I felt a little fugly, people.
But, in my extreme attempt to blow the shit out of the perception of my own body image…I find I have to look at it this way:
Cameras don’t get all the angles.
They sure as shit don’t get the Epic that is the Everything I do on a daily basis.
They most certainly don’t capture the vivid colours of my hopes, my dreams and my goals.
Meh. Body shape changes. Daily, for some. Monthly, for others.
I change, too. But, it’s not measurable. It’s not tangible.
You can only see it when you talk to me or follow along with my made-for-tv-movie kind’o’life.
Cameras will never capture my articulation and eloquence in describing that journey to those I will never meet in person.
Do I love my shorn look?
No, absolutely not. Not yet.
But, I’m certainly not spending a ridiculous amount of my time thinking about.
Today? Yes, I am.
Tomorrow? Not so much.
Too much to do, so much more to learn.
Do you struggle with body image? How do you try to change your perspective?