Glorious Me

A couple of days ago Zuzu at Feministe challenged her readers to reveal what they love about their bodies:

We’re conditioned, particularly as women, to be self-deprecating, to not take up space, to not revel in our bodies and ourselves. We can get 150 comments in a thread about when we realized that we were aware our bodies weren’t up to snuff; let’s see how many we can generate praising ourselves.

Your mission: list at least five things you love about your body and yourself. Five is the floor; you can always do more. And no self-deprecation! No offsetting a compliment with a dig.

As Lymphopo at As The Tumor Turns notes, this is a challenge of a different nature for those of us who not only are women living in a culture that teaches us to be critical about our bodies, it tells disabled and damaged bodies that they don't really qualify for "normal" consideration at all. Lymphopo says:

As I read through the lists people posted in the comments, I couldn't help but notice how many women said they loved their bodies because they're strong and healthy and sexually attractive. They love things like their lovely mouths, their hour glass figures, their beautiful breasts, their adorable curves, their perfect posture, their strong legs, their awesome hair. They love being able to run marathons and climb mountains and be great in bed.

And I couldn't help but wonder: what if they didn't have these things any more? What would happen to that love if their youth and health and vitality went away? Would they still find something to love? What will happen to them if the day ever comes when their hair falls out, their breast are cut off or wither from age, their bodies grow old or sick, their faces or limbs are maimed and disfigured? Will they find a way to go on loving bodies that have broken down and betrayed them?

I enjoyed reading through about half of the comments Lymphopo describes. I wanted to add my own, but my criteria differ enough I felt I would be creating a sort of "special" category of my own, which defeats the communal purpose of adding to the list.

I wouldn't say I love my body, but I'm impressed at how it's hanging in there despite a pretty serious lack of cheerleading from anyone but me for its peculiar beauty.

I love the fact that I had a dimple before my facial muscles gave up enough for it to have been MIA for about 30 years now. I love my phantom dimple that maybe only I recall.

I love my one perfect breast. The other one gets the runner up award. Yeah, I know people think they're supposed to be a pair, and they are quite similar. But I have just the one stunningly beautiful boob. I sit crooked in my chair so it all sort of works out.

I love my hands. And the memory of when they worked. I studied classical piano for ten years, starting at age six because my Kindergarten teacher said smart restless kids need hobbies to not turn into giant pains-in-the-ass. My hands were limber and graceful and technically-talented, and now I'm happy that they work creatively at this typo-ridden hunt-and-peck thing where half the letters of what I write are tapped out with my left thumb and right pinkie. The rest from clumsy knuckles and trips to the backspace key. But my fingernails grow into pretty ovals and I like to wear rings. I love my hands.

My hair was beautiful until a year and a half ago. Fine-textured, but thick, a reddish-brown of many glimmering shades. It's been tormented by harsh medications and the practical hands of others since then. The war with the grays, too now. Half of it fell out last April and I'm not so portable with the vent, so my vanity only occurs near mirrors or the bemused laughter of others. I keep thinking I'll give it more love sometime soon.

What else? My ass? I've been sitting on it all my waking hours since 1983. It functions well in that capacity. I imagine it's flattish by now though. I'm ambivalent.

I once had a gangly physical grace about me that translated well into my manual chair, worked alright in my original electric scooters, and rarely surfaces with the newer scooter that has engineered out all individuality of driving style with its anti-lawsuit features like automatic brakes. Still, I like to think I look good sitting here.