During exam week, I did something very bad. I can
rationalize all I want, but when it came down to it, I teased an old teacher of
mine because of the way his looks had changed—and, Lord, I feel like the worst
person alive in saying this, but I judged his weight— since I saw him last. And
after saying it, I wanted to kick myself.
He was an asshole. But, still. What does weight have to do
with anything?
Kathryn and I have a saying, “It’s not gossip—it’s
research!” We commonly use this when we are attempting to understand another persons behavior, rather than only badmouth them.
So, when I kept my mouth shut long enough to hate myself for
saying those negative things about my old professor, I began to try and look at
his changes as a character in a story. I started by examining my own thoughts. I’d
always felt comfortable in my own skin, until I started a family. I am/was a
young mother and seeing my body change drastically in comparison with most of
the women my age often left me feeling worthless. I have gained weight
recently, since I stopped breastfeeding my youngest in the spring, I have
gained over fifteen pounds. Ugh, it makes me sick just thinking about it, but
why? I should embrace this new body, right? But no, I haven’t. Not yet. I’ve
grown complacent towards exercise since school started back up, I’ve enjoyed
one of my oldest pleasures, baking, a little too much, and I’ve ate terribly
while on campus. I’m twenty-four and have definitely gotten wrinkles under my
eyes since nursing school began, and it takes double the amount of cover up to
hide the deep purple bags beneath my barely open eyes than it once did. Most
days, I just go without it.
Save for no longer breastfeeding, my old professor has
probably dealt with a lot of the same issues. Who I am to judge? I have no
right to attempt to appraise another person, and I don’t want to, especially since
when I am of sane mind I feel like weight and appearance is mostly irrelevant! I say mostly because I can’t help but think of
jaundice. That’s an appearance that is not irrelevant in an adult!)
Obviously, when I acted like a catty sixteen year old, I was
projecting my own insecurities onto another person. Not only is this the kind
of thing an asshole does, these apparent insecurities can show up in my
writing, often in a negative way. My own lack of physical confidence manifests
itself into my work, but this insecurity can also be used to my advantage. In
thinking over my grievances, I was able to create for myself a writing assignment
in which I wrote out a character description of a man once feared as he handed
out tests, but was now a joke because of the terribly petty nature of his
students. I shoved it away and may never use it again, but the concept of “practice
makes perfect” rings just as true for writing as it does for anything else.
Still, I think my own insecurities do me more harm than
good. A person, whether it is an author, a nurse, or a waitress, needs to be
able to make choices with confidence and stand by them, and part of making
these choices, is believing in and loving yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment