In a hurry to leave for my five year old’s friend’s “American Girl” birthday party, I search through my closet for something to wear. I have just finished breastfeeding my three month old, cleaning up my dogs throw-up (who got sick from eating too many M &M’s at my daughter’s birthday party the day before) and searching through my wallet for some quarters to give to my son’s tzedakah (Hebrew word for charity) at his Sunday school. Tossing three pairs of jeans across the room, unsatisfied with how any of them fit, I catch a faraway glimpse of myself in my bedroom mirror.
I stare at my “ever so changed” figure after my recent birth of baby number three. What happened to that pre-mommy body that I used to possess? Images of my golden tanned, flat stomach flash through my mind as I run my fingers over my well earned stretch marks. Gritting my teeth, I ponder when I will get back to those LA classes that burn off both your butt and your brains…Burn 60, Circuit Works….whatever will transport me back to that carefree college girl on Spring Break – before I became a psychotherapist, before I became a writer, before I became a mother, before I became aware…
Flashes of some of my eating disordered clients race through my mind. Images of a short-blonde headed, anorexic woman who complains of being “fat,” her bones painfully bulging out underneath her thin-layer of skin. Soundbites of a red-headed bulimic teenager who binges and purges so many times in a day that the acid in her stomach has begun to erode the lining of her esophagus. Pictures of a sad, overweight Korean man who starves himself so someone like Meg Ryan will eventually ask him out on a date.
Putting on a pair of leggings, things suddenly fall into perspective. Why am I (a somewhat evolved woman) wholeheartedly participating in the warped world that our society has created? I have just given birth, for God’s sakes. Why do I feel the need to snap back into a size 2? To become an American girl doll devoid of feeling and awareness? Taking a deep breath I vow to myself (as a mother of two daughters and a son) that I will try my best to teach my children the importance of maintaining a balanced perspective, owning one’s own identity and recognizing the pressures that our culture, our society creates.
Coming home from American girl with a doll and accessories in tow I reflect how difficult it is in this material world to keep such a perspective. From the time we are little, we are constantly being marketed to, thrown idealized versions of who we should or could become — if only we drink the Koolaid that lies before us on every advertisement, commercial, billboard and magazine we encounter.
We may be American girls. We may be raising American girls. But let us remember on a daily basis that underneath our American skin lies something much more delicate than our fading exterior. Unlike the dolls we buy or the advertisements we can’t resist that promise to help us look better, act better, smell better, etc. we are all desperately trying to love ourselves and form deep, lasting connections with one another. And unfortunately, finding these inner and outer connections in our world is akin to turning off millions of lights (the internet, blackberrys, ipods, cellphones,etc) to find the tiniest flicker of gold.
In my novel, The Gossamer Thread there are many passages about my immigration from South Africa to the United States where as a young American girl I struggled to assimilate to American culture. Longing to shed my “South African identity” I blended into the bland American landscape, hoping that my former self would not be recognized. Yet my authentic self, my flicker of gold tugged at me, asking me to honor its significance.
And so next time I look in the mirror, I will remember that underneath my exterior this flicker of gold is still waiting to be discovered. It is my choice – to see myself as a lifeless American Girl doll – the one that haunted me as a young girl and adolescent, that is still advertised and tirelessly pushed toward me OR a unique, educated, deep and well-versed woman with lines forming around her eyes and stretch marks lining her stomach — pathways extending outward from her golden body.