Bringing Sexy Back

Until my body and soul are really my own possessions, I cannot present them to anyone. Writer Virginia Stem Owens asks a grippingly good question, "Can I be friends with myself if I am not friends with my body?" To be friends with our bodies is a good form of self-possession, allowing us to own ourselves enough to be capable of giving ourselves away to God and others. What if we redefined our bodies with Christ as our first consultant, not fashion models, or our own hurtful standards?...My body is something I get to steward, to love, to cherish, to be "in," to give, until death do us part.
-Ruby Slippers, Jonalyn Grace Fincher, p. 108

Dear friends,

I have a white, cheesy discharge in my yoo-hoo, which, according to my doctor during my last appointment, is a classic symptom of a yeast infection. My doctor also suspects that the yeast infection is in my intestines. Because I am taking long-term antibiotics and have eaten more sugar lately than I really should be eating, a yeast infection was bound to happen no matter how many probiotics I take. I'm not losing sleep over this revelation - a cocktail of pharmaceutical medicine and supplements should handle this problem - but I am finding this "cheese factory" inside my yoo-hoo challenges me to reconcile my physical body with my Self.

I can take a pretty good guess that the "cheese factory" became a full-fledged operation a good while before I even noticed it. It probably began sometime around the time the sugar cravings increased, which occurred a few months before I noticed the "cheese factory" in November. This experience - a normal experience for those with Lyme who take antibiotics (at least for women) - begs the question: Do I own my body? Do I take good care of it? Am I a good friend to my body? Am I aware?

All these questions (and more) are indicative of my larger journey in regards to my sense of Self, my body, my femininity, my identity. I really don't plan on answering all these questions here in this post, but I want to share with you some snapshots from my life journey that might help explain how I got here (and how much further I need to go).

******

When I was in college, I had a friend named Shelly. To me, Shelly was beautiful. She was quite unlike anyone I had met at Northwestern. In fact, she didn't go to Northwestern at all. Instead, she went to Ohio State, the complete opposite of Northwestern. Where Northwestern excels at academics, Ohio State excels in athletics. Where Northwestern students prefer studying on all their weekends, weeknights, and even the few minutes walking between classes, Ohio State students seem to spend the same amount of time partying.

I first met Shelly on a summer overseas missions trip. We spent the first two nights sharing a hotel room. All I remember are Shelly's form-fitting clothing, her make-up (any amount leaves an impression), and her large, silver hoop earrings. I was so intimidated by this woman that I was positively sure I would never be friends with her. But somehow by God's grace we did become friends - close friends, in fact.

Over the next few years, Shelly and I visited each other in Evanston, IL, and Columbus, OH. Once when I visited Shelly, she finally coaxed me into allowing her to highlight my hair. Until then, I had resisted her pleas for months, but for whatever reason, I gave in that weekend. Allowing anyone to highlight my hair was something I have never done before or since. Yet, there was something about Shelly that I could trust. I'm not sure what it was, but perhaps I knew that Shelly knew something about me that I couldn't believe at that moment. Well, that, and I got control over the choice of the color of the dye. So, it was all good.

There are a few other things I remember about Shelly: First, she insisted that I own a pair of large ("the larger the better"), silver hoop earrings. I always laughed when she suggested this. For one, I hardly wore earrings. In fact, I had to re-pierce my ears at the age of 19 because I let the hole close up. And two, hoop earrings are just bothersome. Who wants a tire hanging off of their ear?

The second thing I remember about Shelly is that she regularly told me that I was one of the most beautiful people she met. I tended to chase that comment with a blank stare. Here was a beautiful woman standing in front of me telling me I am beautiful? No. No way. I see something different.

******

It was like you would look in the mirror and instead of seeing your beautiful blue eyes, all you would see were tears.
-My friend Debra

I didn't look in the mirror until I was 21 years old. I mean like really look in the mirror - the kind of self-study that forced me to confront who I was up until that point by being brutally honest with the state of my Self, the honest way I perceived my Self. I suppose I waited for so long because the mirror reminded me that I was shit. Not just looked like shit, but that I was shit. Dirty. Worthless. Disposable. Unlovable. Though what I found in the mirror was not pretty, accepting the truth about the state of my Self, the perception of my Self, was the catalyst I needed to take a big leap forward into Life.

******

When I was 16 years old, I decided to check out this new store called Forever 21. I have never enjoyed shopping - for clothes, food, electronics, you name it, and I tend to visit a store two or three times before I make a purchase - but I decided to check out the store the next time I found myself in the mall. I took five steps into the store, stopped, scanned the dizzying array of merchandise, turned around, and walked out of the store, vowing never again would I step foot into that store.

I received some money lately and asked my friend Tristen to be my personal shopper last Friday. I have always noticed how fashionable Tristen is, so I asked her where she found all these cute outfits. "Forever 21," she said. Well, that is just great, I thought.

I arrived at Forever 21 first. As I waited outside the store (the back-lit sign above the entrance actually says "XXI"...my crossword puzzles really do come in handy), I contemplated walking out of the mall. Tristen would forgive me, I thought. But she arrived soon enough.

Before we entered the store, Tristen spoke: "So, I am really thinking that your style is classic and plain. I'm here to create for you a style with lots of bold colors and patterns."

"Thank you, Stacy London," I retorted.

Soon, we had stepped inside Forever 21. If you have never been to this store, count yourself lucky. It's like every fashion designer, seamstress, manufacturer, store manager, and teenybopper in the world got high on LSD and vomited fabric and patterns and skinny jeans. To make matters worse, the store mimics their collective LSD trip: clothes are crammed from front to back and from floor to ceiling on waves upon waves of racks without any thought for the organization of style, size or color. I sincerely got quite dizzy and was sure I would pass out.

But Tristen did not seem to have a problem navigating this fashion kaleidoscope. She swiftly and methodically pulled clothes off the racks and dumped them into my hands. I found it easier not to resist and mostly just "checked out." At one point, I did actually find a blouse I liked and pulled it off the rack to show Tristen.

"Ooh, look at this one. Isn't it pretty?"

"Yes, it is," she said. [Pause.] "OK, but you know you're looking at the back of the blouse, right?"

A few minutes later, Tristen pulled a black blouse off the rack. "Now this is sexy!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, um, OK," I murmured.

We then walked by a rack full of turtlenecks that were on sale. My fashion coma lifted.

"I like turtlenecks," I said even though I was really thinking, I really like the price.

"Turtlenecks aren't sexy enough," Tristen said.

"So, wait, the only criteria I'm hearing come out of your mouth is 'more sexy.'"

"That's right. See, Anna, if you didn't have me here, all you would do is gravitate towards all the un-sexy clothes. I'm here to bring sexy back for you."

I laughed. She was right. And the clothes - which are rather tight-fitting and bold - really do bring the sexy out in me.

******

At the young age of 19, a female mentor of mine gave me some of the best advice I have ever received. She suggested that I take six months to study who I am in Christ, to study my identity, my worth, my value, what Jesus said about me, His creation. Always up for a challenge, I heeded her advice and dug right in. I read books, studied the Bible carefully, and memorized Scripture. I prayed and I prayed.

While it has taken years for what I learned in these six months to actually sink in (it has a lot more sinking in to go, too), the point is that I am a stronger, more beautiful, healthier woman for doing the hard work, for persevering, for never giving up. The pain is worth it.

******

A few weeks ago, my four-year-old niece, Jasmine, came over to have a sleep-over on a weeknight. I couldn't wait hanging out with her since she and her family moved back from Florida. I am most thankful that I have the time and flexibility to invite my lovely niece over for a fun night like that.

The first thing Jasmine does when she comes over to my house is that she goes into my room to find my make-up, which is, incidentally, at her eye-level. Jasmine immediately rifles through the jar and picks up the red lipstick - the only lipstick I own - and cakes it on her lips. To be sure, she is getting better at "coloring between the lines", though applying lipstick on four times in an hour is a bit much in my opinion.

After the lipstick, she pulls out the mascara and eye shadow. She hands them to me then gently closes her quivering eyelids, and then I apply. She always asks that I apply all of the eye shadow colors. I comply. Finally, she pulls out my perfume - a very expensive bottle of perfume that an ex-boyfriend gave me a few years ago, a bottle that I seem to be rationing more and more these days to keep me from having to spend a lot of money on a new bottle. I suggest we stand side-by-side and then I give it a good hard spray. For a moment, we both dance underneath the misty loveliness.

******

Make-up for me isn't even an afterthought, for an afterthought implies some or any kind of thought. No, I rarely think, Gosh, I need to apply mascara and lipstick before going out today. For one, people have always told me that I had great skin and didn't need it. (I love these people.) And two, no one ever really taught me. OK, sure, I had a few makeovers in college from friends who were generally concerned for me. But those makeovers always felt like I was wearing someone else's face. What I love about Christ is that He will not stop to bring out the beauty hidden on the inside in order to reveal it on the outside for all Creation to enjoy. Make-up, then, is just a tool to enhance the beauty, but make-up cannot be a substitute for beauty.

******

The morning after our sleep-over, Jasmine decided that she wanted to dress me. She opened up my closet and swiftly started picking out clothing, not unlike what Tristen did in Forever 21. Jasmine found a blue dress with spaghetti straps and insisted that I wear it over jeans. I told her that I have never worn a dress over jeans, plus it was terribly cold outside, but she didn't seem to hear my argument. Jasmine then pulled out most of my shoes and made me try them all on to find the "right ones." She also kept saying something about me needing to go "more fancy." In the end, I chose to wear jeans, a V-neck tee and my running shoes, and Jasmine seemed to approve (though perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I'm an adult?)

The thing I love about Jasmine is that she loves make-up and style. It is normal for her to change outfits two or three times a day. She got her ears pierced at the age of three. She loves dancing and singing and jumping on the trampoline. Yet, like me, she is a daredevil and adventurer at heart: we fully expect her to be jumping out of planes with her daddy at age ten. She is her and I am me and we are still friends.

******

It has been nearly seven years since I first met Shelly. We have gotten to see each other in Washington, D.C., and Dayton, OH. We took a three-day backpacking trip in the Hocking Hills of Ohio. And a few years ago, she "crossed over" and got herself hitched to a Northwestern friend of mine. And Shelly, I can positively say to you that I just purchased large, silver hoop earrings and I believe and know that I am beautiful inside and out.

******

After our shopping adventure, Tristen and I sat down to take stock of my purchases. I also shared with her what I have been reading in Ruby Slippers, a book about genuine femininity. To be quite honest, I do not see myself much in the author's own experiences. The author writes about how much she hated her curly, frizzy hair growing up. In contrast, my hair is the one, constant thing I have liked about myself all my life. This woman talks about the female habit of comparing herself with other, skinnier women (via magazines, TV, etc). In contrast, I grew up having no concept of size or shape either in myself or of others; I chose clothes based on convenience and price (i.e., free). I often wore my soccer uniform and sweats to school so that I wouldn't have to change for soccer practice afterwards.

While I have changed a lot - I no longer wear the same clothes to work that I have also slept in and I do straighten my hair (another Shelly-influence) - I choose clothes that make me feel like I can move. I don't buy heels because I walk a lot. (Plus, when I first got Lyme I had little balance, so heels were impractical.) I tend to buy "multiples", meaning that if I find a shirt that I like, I'll buy four colors in the same style. Yes, I am fully aware that I need to get away from this practice; shopping with Tristen revived my hope for buying an eclectic mix of clothing.

However, I am me. I am not Tristen. I am not a runway model. I am someone who enjoys people and reading and exploration. I just don't get excited about make-up or clothing the way some women do. But here's a caveat: I love shopping at boutiques. It is fun to find quirky clothing and to support local businesses. (My black coat is a perfect example of that. You can see a tiny bit of the coat in my profile pic.) But I can go months without clothes shopping and I am still happy. I just choose to put my creative energies into something else, like writing.

Nonetheless, I suppose I have more in common with the author of Ruby Slippers that I realize. We're both longing to become whole beings, both seeking the restoration of our wounded souls, and both seeking God. Now that's a femininity I enjoy.

Peace to you,

A.