On Becoming an Elder not an Old Lady
One day in 3rd grade, I found myself in a predicament that has stuck with me to this day. Visualize the classroom, small desks that come up to an adult’s thigh and the small chairs that go with them. Elementary school chairs at this time were shaped with an oval disc at the top to support your back and then stemming from this disc along the backside were two stainless steel posts going down diagonally like the letter A. The posts extended into the legs of the chair and the seat rested of course on top of the steel posts. An early childhood torture device, I would come to find out.
There I was in class, listening earnestly to Ms. Purcell while sitting on my knees on that chair. I don’t know why or how but my legs began to slip through that opening of the A and soon my body did too. The problem was, my torso was in the middle of the A and my legs were behind the chair. I got stuck there. I was hoping no one would notice and I could squeeze back out onto the top of the seat. Nope. So imagine, I’m in this classroom with my peers, 7-year-olds who don’t have filters yet and say whatevers is on their mind. I was so focused on not wanting anyone to notice me that I simply kept quiet.
I knew I had to get myself out of the chair without being looked at. And then the recess bell rang. O.M.G. How was I going to escape that chair before anyone noticed?? I couldn’t miss recess! If I wasn’t at the big tire to meet my friends in 3 minutes, everyone would know I got stuck in a chair. I kept my head down as all the kids rushed towards the door. It’s kind of a blur as to how Ms. Purcell realized I needed her help but I know everyone went out to recess and I was stuck behind. I’m sure she tried not to laugh as I must have looked so silly stuck in this chair with my legs on the ground and my body resting on the seat like I was Peter Pan trying to fly. Thankfully, Rico the trusty maintenance man came to unscrew the chair and I was freed.
The interesting part of my memory of this story is that I don’t recall if any of the other kids made fun of me or they thought it was no big deal. But to me, the fact that the chair had to be dismantled in order for me to get out was mortifying. That’s when I began to be aware of my body and whether it was normal or too big. Too big for 3rd grade chairs anyway.
A few years later, in 5th-grade, I was on the local swim team practicing a few times a week. Although I had been friends with boys, noticing them at this age became a bit different. Suddenly they were cute. Feelings of shyness and other emotions I couldn’t explain became apparent and sending notes to each other was the typical mode of communication. Notes that would say, “Do you like me? Check this box for yes and this box for no.” Or we would create those paper fortune tellers that you put your fingers into to move around, spelling out names and stopping on the last letter to reveal what your favorite color was or what boy you liked. It was all so immature and adorable. A boy named Michael, with blonde hair, very pale skin and blue lips was my friend. We definitely liked each other. Now I know he may have had some kind of ailment for his blue lips but it didn’t seem to affect his outgoing personality. Michael had invited some of the classmates over to his house to have a party one Friday evening, but I had swim team practice so the plan was for me to arrive later.
I wore my blue carpenter pants, kind of like ToughSkins, the favored brand of the 1970s with my pastel plaid short-sleeved button-down shirt and my Dr. Scholls sandals. Dr. Scholls were essential, with the wooden platform and navy strap with the buckle going across the top of the foot. Classic 1970s style. My long hair was wet from practice and I felt self-conscious already arriving after everyone else.
Word on the street was that my neighbor, nemesis, Jane would be there and that she liked Michael too. Jane was a bossy rich girl who always got what she wanted. I knew she wasn’t my type of friend. I arrived and the music was playing, 70s disco music, and some of us decided we should dance. Michael and I tried some moves holding hands and swinging around. Then he decides to do this swing-me-between-his-legs move where he’s supposed to hold my hands and I’d magically slide through and back up to face him. Which I guess was a dance move from the 50s — maybe we got it from watching Happy Days. I don’t know what possessed us to think it would be so easy.
As I swung through the A-frame of his legs, yup, you guessed it: I got stuck again. Only this time I banged my head on the floor, and there I stayed. There was no swooping me back up like you see in the movies, where they jump up like a Slinky. I don’t know which hurt worse: my head, or my ego. I was mortified that all the kids saw what happened. I left soon after that and Jane got to spend the rest of the time with Michael.
Little did I know then, the awkwardness and mortifying moments would continue throughout adolescence. I sometimes wonder if these memories are where the body dysmorphia started. It’s a real thing, body dysmorphia. I only learned this term a few years ago when I looked at some old pictures of myself in my 20s. You can be sure almost every woman feels this even if they don’t know the word. I thought I was fat back then, and oh man was I wrong. The sad thing is that I always felt bigger than I was and I don’t know why. I never felt comfortable in a bathing suit. How do you teach a kid to be comfortable in their own bodies? It seems so much easier to make them feel uncomfortable. These underlying messages in movies and magazine images truly permeate the psyche of all of us.
I got pregnant at age 30 and I started to love my body. I mean I loved being pregnant. The magic of a little alien growing in my body, and it didn’t matter what shape my body was because it was creating another human being! I got so big and it didn’t matter because I was growing a child inside! I actually lost weight in my first trimester because the thought of eating any animal protein was really disgusting to me. The only thing that helped my nausea was a Wendy’s Frosty. I never ate at Wendy’s so how that became appealing I have no idea. The body is amazing knowing what it wants!
I remember my legs started to look thin and although I was worried about the baby the doctor assured me he was ok. Early on in the pregnancy, I had to go to Chicago for work and no one knew I was pregnant because it was too early to tell anyone. Here I was with a bunch of strangers at some seminar to learn something I don’t remember and they gave us a catered lunch. There were no choices. Only chicken cordon bleu — gross. I was hungry and I didn’t want anyone to notice that I couldn’t eat so I took a bite and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. It got more and more disgusting as I kept chewing. I thought, what am I going to do with this granular baby food in my mouth that tastes like roadkill? The coughing-in-the-napkin trick ought to do it. Yup. So that’s what I did. Then I cut my food and pushed it around like someone with anorexia does when they want to look like they ate. And it didn’t get much better. Chicago was known for its steak houses and wouldn’t you know that’s where everyone wanted to go for dinner. All I wanted was a Wendy’s Frosty!
It really sucks having this sometimes debilitating image of yourself. I thought I’d be one of those moms that were comfortable with her body in a bathing suit and didn’t let it stop her from playing with her kids in the pool or swim in the ocean. Unfortunately, I have to say I was more uncomfortable than not. And now I’m turning 50! Fuck it! I can say that I finally feel good on the inside on most days and not without the help of sitting on the meditation cushion, exercise and eating well and most importantly facing all the gunk of lies and shadows on the inside. We all KNOW that beauty is an inside job but who’s willing to actually BELIEVE it.
I say take it back! I’m flipping my own personal process of aging and becoming a wise elder, not an old lady. Love the cellulite, love the wrinkles, love the aging. I say mute the ads on IG of dermatologists, botox, creams, hair colorists, makeup and covering up for society. Let’s put down the jade rollers and $100 salves. I am becoming an elder and I have walked through fire to get here! It’s not about fighting death but about embracing life. Life and wisdom will epicly unfurl like a sail on the mast of a ship I become even more beautiful! And so are you.
