Looking a Gift Horse in the Mouth

I recently posted a picture of myself and my husband on a hike up Spencer’s Butte in Eugene, Oregon.  Last year our opportunities for hiking were rare so this trip, on my husband’s birthday, was a genuine treat.  When I posted the pictures I was, once again, struck with a feature that has always dismayed me: my crooked teeth.

           

            Those who are about my age know that there was a time when braces were considered an affectation for the rich, not a medical necessity.  When my teeth started coming in in every direction they were first ignored and then, when family finances finally got to the point where dental care was an option, were given the standard fix.  If there isn’t enough room for the teeth you’ve got, take out a tooth and let the remainder fill in as they will.  Now, mind you, God and nature have given me many wonderful gifts and I wouldn’t trade a single one of them for pretty teeth, but vanity is a sneaky and pervasive imp. 

            In a caption to the photo I mentioned my thoughts, even at my age, of having my teeth straightened with those invisible prosthesis.  My lady friends, that stalwart line of support that all lucky women have, told me not to sweat it.  I was fine.  Their kind remarks reminded me of an observation I made about women a couple of years ago—essentially that we tend to be our own worst critics.  Self-criticism may be our greatest strength and our most insidious weakness all at the same time. 

           

Here is just one example of what I have observed about women. 

Over twenty-five ago, I started working out at my local YMCA.  I had been doing lap swimming for a few years but had hit a plateau and thought that building up my upper body strength would help.  So, a few years before it became a fad, I ventured into the weight room and started using the machines.  Over the years, other women caught on to the benefits of weight work and the YMCA improved and expanded it facilities.  One summer the “Y” closed the whole building for a week and we came back to a totally remodeled, clean, airy, comfortable, carpeted weight room with an array of state of the art machines. 

            But then there were those mirrors!  They covered one entire wall of the weight room from floor to ceiling. 

Over the next weeks I noticed a very interesting human dynamic going on.  By this time there were lots of women working out in that room.  In my late 40’s I was probably the oldest of the group, certainly I had been there the longest.  But age, size or shape made no difference.  Not a single woman liked those mirrors.  We automatically positioned ourselves so we would not--could not--see ourselves working out.  The most beautiful, fit, youthful girl in that room looked at herself, made a face and turned around.  All of us were thinking we were too fat, too scrawny, too young, too old, too… (fill in the blank).

            What were the men doing?  God bless ‘em, they loved it.  I never saw a single man who didn’t carry his free weights over to that mirror so he could admire himself while he worked out those Adonis arms!  It made absolutely no difference if they were good looking or not, paunchy or well built, young or old, in or out of shape.  Every man in that room liked what he saw!  If you ever want proof that God is a man, here is exhibit A. 

            Women are our own worst enemies and harshest critics.  As a group, we need to give ourselves a break.  We need to judge ourselves with a broader standard that is less physical and more mental.   Feminism has failed us in so many ways and this obsession with an artificially composed standard of beauty is one of them.

           

            I plan on working on being not just accepting of myself, but happy with it.  I will keep the faith.