A Thigh Sigh...

It has happened. I knew this dreaded day would come. I was getting dressed before my morning walk, and the sun must have been coming in the window just right, because I looked down and saw (gasp!!!) my thighs are sagging!!! SAGGING!!! I have old lady thighs!! How did this happen? I walk every day and thought I would avoid such signs of aging. I mean, I eat well...exercise...I'm SUPPOSED to last forever!

OK, calm down. Breathe. You can deal with this. (I say to myself as I'm lifting up on my skin to see how to fix it maybe support hose or rubber bands would help?)

I remember years ago, probably 10 years at least, I heard someone say she no longer wore sleeveless tops. I asked why? She replied that their arms were old. OLD? How do your arms get old? And even if they do, aren't you hot in long-sleeves? It's gotta be 90 degrees out here!! Wait, are we supposed to stop being comfortable because our old arms might offend someone? Why do old arms offend? Oh well, I took it in and stopped wearing sleeveless tops. For about a year, maybe two, until I decided I was too damned hot to care. I do remember when the saggy skin started to appear under my arms, but if I keep them down I can easily pretend it doesn't exist.

The thing I find so disturbing is that I don't notice or care what other women in their various stages of weight or aging look like. I truly think women are beautiful! And it is my deepest desire to see all women set free in their beauty and comfortable in their skin...sagging or firm. Yet the changes in my own body are...a bit unnerving.

Still, I am determined to keep blazing on this trail...this new territory where the years of my future are less than the years of my past. I want to age gracefully...and by that I don't mean that I want to look younger than my years. I mean I want to show the daughters in my life, and particularly my granddaughter some day, that aging isn't scary. I want them to know that beauty truly does come from within and can shine just as brightly from a saggy and wrinkled body. When the world is bombarding them with anti-aging messages and distorted and fake images of perfection, I want them to see how wonderful growing old can be.

So, I will bravely push on...in sleeveless tops when it's hot out...even flaunting my saggy thighs in a swimsuit. I refuse to succumb to peer pressure at my age. Life is way too short and beauty too complex to be defined by a magazine cover. Come on, saggy thighs...we're going for a walk!

The Void

I wish I could talk to you. But when things aren't good you disappear. Not physically, although that happens too sometimes. It's the void, this blackness that you seem to fall into. I feel it. I sense it. Is it shame that pulls you in and holds you there?

I wish I could tell you that I know. Even though I don't know, I know. I may not have details...but my heart...always...knows. I don't even want the details. No, they wouldn't help anything. They are always the same, really. Pain. Injuries. Setbacks. Lies...oh the lies. I hate the lies the most! Lies hurt. Lies steal from relationships in ways nothing else can. No distance is further than the distance between two hearts with a lie...that lies...in between.

Why can't you reach out, come clean, admit when you've fallen? Do you think you are protecting us? This is not protection. There is no protection. There is no safety in the void of not knowing. We see it in the eyes of those around you. Other loved ones who know the truth...know the gory details. Veiled eyes. "Please don't ask" eyes. We don't ask. They don't tell. But we know.

So...we go on...avoiding the void...dancing around it. Dancing the dance. Hoping the hope. Believing love is strong enough to pull you up out of that dark place of stumbling, falling frustration. We wait...we breathe, or try to. We try not to let the void seep into our lives and into our love.

But sometimes...I'm just too tired to dance...

Distortion

Sometimes I put my contacts in the wrong eyes. I put the left one in my right eye, and the right one in my left eye. I have made this mistake for so long now, that I don't know any more which way is correct. How can I see? Well, that's the thing. I can see. I am probably not seeing well, but I can see. Things are distorted, and I may even feel dizzy. But it seems right, at first. And when I reverse them it always looks strange at first too. Which is why I cannot figure out which way is correct. And it makes me feel dumb.

I realize that I spend a lot of time (waste a lot of time) feeling dumb. Beating myself up. Calling myself "dork" and "lame" and "clumsy". The other night I was loading a glass into the dishwasher...one of my favorite glasses that I love to drink out of that I got at IKEA and why didn't I buy more than two of them? I hit it on the counter top and it shattered. Into the dishwasher. And I was so mad at myself. How stupid could I be? I'm such an idiot!!!

Why is that always my first reaction?

God is talking to me a lot lately about loving myself better. It all boils down to grace. I have grace (for the most part) for other people. When they do dumb things, I am right there to tell them it's no big deal. I will even help clean up their mess. I am able to extend grace in very ugly and messy situations, even to very ugly and messed up people. But me? I should have it all together.

I have grace for everyone else. But I...don't...need...it. I should be perfect. 

What is this and where does it come from? Maybe the grace I think I am extending isn't grace at all. Maybe it is pride in it's purest form. Maybe it's pity. When I see the sins or mistakes of others, in my warped mind I am thankful that it isn't me...thankful that I have it more together. I am the bigger person therefore I can extend myself to help. Ugh...I am not seeing clearly.

Grace was given by God to us through the only perfect person, who was willing to experience everything we have and ever will go through. On the cross, Jesus experienced every single sin we could ever imagine. The grace that we have been given is born of compassion, not pity. When we trip ourselves up, thinking perfection is our goal, all we have to offer others is pity. Coming from our self-perceived higher position, we look down upon sinners. Compassion doesn't look down upon anyone...compassion gets down in the dirt with people, dirt that has turned into mud from their tears; and compassion cries with them. It is from this kind of compassion that grace was given to us.

I can see how hard I've been on myself. I have become overly frustrated with my imperfections...because I have forgotten my own need for grace.

It is such a fine line, and one I no longer want to balance upon. I want the grace I give others to be pure, and unadulterated...served up from the cracked pot that is me. I am no better, no less needy, and no more together than my brothers and sisters. And this, my friends, is the beauty of grace. I am able to give it to others by remembering I'm alive because someone perfect gave it to me. The only perfect Someone.

So...the pressure's off. No more distorted vision of myself. I see the subtle error in my thinking.
No more abusive, judgmental, self-talk. I am going to start right here and now, giving myself what I know I need. Grace.