I Do Not Love My Body

I am fed up with the obsession most people seem to have about the human body. I am fed up with seeing ads all over my TV, my facebook page and everywhere else I look advertising various diets, “skinny” recipes and the “secret,” that will make me thin. I am equally frustrated by the well-meaning, counter ads, telling us that must love our bodies and be proud of them because we are all so beautiful.

I’d like to propose something different. How about we all stop giving our bodies so much damn credit? My body is only one thing; it is a vessel in which I move through life. It is, in fact, very much like my wheelchair. It serves a purpose. When it is broken, I have to fix it; I have to do what I can to make sure it is working properly and that I am not causing it any undue damage. That is my only responsibility to it.

My wheelchair is not a defining factor in who I am. When people meet me they notice it, but they are not obsessing over the fact that it is orange instead of black, or that it is smaller or bigger than the one they saw last week, or weather in has metal spokes or plastic ones. Once people get to know me they don’t notice it at all.

No one tells me how to feel about my wheelchair. No one tells me that it could be sexier or sleeker or that the girl I work with has a better chair because it isn’t old and the paint isn’t chipped. No one tells me to love my chair. They don’t tell me that my chair is beautiful because it is mine, and that my chair is worthy of love and affection.

My chair does not determine whether I am a good person. It does not define who I am; and although it may determine how some people see me, that’s not my problem, it’s theirs.

The same can be said about my body. It is nothing but a vessel for my soul, or my energy, or my brain, or whatever makes me me.  It needs to be kept healthy and functioning at its best so that I can navigate the world as long as possible. But unlike my wheelchair, my body cannot be replaced. I will respect it, but beyond that I owe it nothing. It deserves neither love nor hate, and no one but me and my doctor has the right to tell me what to do with it.

I wish the world would start putting more emphasis on being a good person than having a good set of abs. Instead of teaching children to love their bodies, why don’t we teach them to love one another? Show them how to be good human beings, teach them to give to others, to think about others and be proud of what they leave behind when they die. After all, when we are gone, it is not our bodies that our loved ones are going to remember. They won’t care if we were a size 6 or a 16. They will remember the way we treated others, the jokes we told, and the way we made them feel.

None of us are going to live forever, and being old is a blessing. The secret of eternal beauty is not in a bottle or a tube, it is not the result of a fad diet or an exercise regimen. It is in our actions, it’s in who we love, how we love them and the memories we leave behind.

To Be Beautiful....

Holy Oh My Goodness. In 23 days, I am going to be a Mrs. That is crazy. You know, I really thought I would be more anxious than I am. Things are coming together; even the maddening little things that drive me crazy. By Monday I should have a slew of DIY stuff to post, including my centerpieces, which are coming along better than I had hoped and my display board for my escort cards. Both projects are super easy, super cheap and don’t require a lot of that fine detail work that can be hard when you have a disability. We are also making our own table numbers and the favors but those won’t be done for a bit yet.

Yesterday, I went to do my hair trial, originally my sister was going to do my hair, but my stepmom, a hairstylist, was nervous about it and recommended someone at her salon. I checked with my sister, to make sure she didn’t think it was personal and made the appointment. My Stepmom was probably right; Angela doing my hair probably would have been stressful for both of us.

Sue was actually the one to do my trial, which saved me some money, but her co-worker, Luanne was there to see it. My stepmom assured me that Luanne was way better at up do’s than she was and since my hair always looks amazing with Sue does it, I am confident that my hair is going to look awesome.

I wanted a side ponytail with curls. This is what Sue came up with (keep in mind it was done in half the time it will probably take the day off and I took this picture several hours after having it done):

It’s a stupid picture of me I know, stop laughing. I think it will look really nice. Now that I have seen the hair, the makeup and the dress I can finally really imagine what I am going to look like the day of. I know it’s silly but I really am scared I won’t live up to the expectation of this beautiful, graceful bride; most of which I hate to admit has to do with my disability. When I close my eyes, and think about my wedding day I don’t picture myself with a disability. In my minds eye I walk up that aisle with the grace of a runway modal. I am standing up straight. Tom and I are posing romantically for pictures, and he is twirling me in my dress on the dance floor. But that bride only exists in my head. I know on the real day I will have my crutches, my gait will be stiff, and my knees will bend making me look short and making my dress too long. We will struggle to find poses that don’t look awkward and will barely move during our first dance. And even though people will tell me I am beautiful, I’ll wonder if I am just beautiful or “beautiful in spite of”

After yesterday, I am starting to feel a little more confident. For this one day I think that I am not only going to look beautiful, I am going to feel beautiful too and it won’t be in spite of my CP or because of it; for that one day nobody will see it, not even me. I think I am going to blow Tom straight out of the water. He may even cry. If he does someone better get that on camera because I am going to use it as leverage for the rest of our lives.