Serious stuff

Thoughts on body image and anchors

A comment from my last post got me thinking and I wanted to respond to her with this, but it was much too long to leave in the comments section. So, this post is for her.

My husband is half Polish and half Serbian. The matriarch of the Serbian half of his family was Grandma Mary. She was the epitome of every stereotype one has of what grandmas should be. She was sweet and kind, always filling you to overflowing with food and never ran short on love. I was fortunate enough to have a few short years with her before she passed away in 1998.

She was a member of St. George’s Serbian Orthodox Church in Lorain. At her funeral, her priest, a young, handsome man from the former Yugoslavia, gave a eulogy that has stuck with me. In my sadness over her passing, his words had a profound effect on me and they apply to so much, in so many instances.youaremore

He was talking about how we shouldn’t be sad that she died. She had gone on to do the thing God created her, created all of us, to do. He placed his hand on the highly polished casket and said, “Do not mourn this body. This is vanity.” He went on to explain that our bodies are only anchors to this earth and aren’t meant to last.


Think about anchors for a minute. What are they? They are nothing more than huge hunks of heavy metal that keep boats and ships from sailing off into the horizon. No one pays much attention to them or what they look like. Some anchors keep fishing boats in place so fishermen can catch dinner for their families, or trawlers can catch seafood for many families. Some anchors hold luxurious yachts in place, vessels so beautiful it staggers the imagination. Still others hold humble boats where they need to be so someone can travel from one place to the next. Regardless, anchors have one simple job and that’s all they’re good for, right?


Or they could be more.

The way I see it, they ARE more. Anchors, and the job they do, can be an allegory for ourselves and the lives we lead. Our bodies are like anchors, very much like what Grandma Mary’s priest said. They keep us here, focused in our lives, on what we are supposed to do. They are attached to the bigger picture of what our lives were meant to be. Some of us were meant to be here to tend to our families the best way we can. Some of us were meant to take care of others. Some people are here to lead beautiful lives, while still others are here to spread humility. None of those are possible without their heavy anchor.

If we can look at those yachts, trawlers and boats and see the goodness and beauty there without a second thought to what their anchors look like, why do we spend so much time on the vanity that surrounds what our bodies look like? The real beauty of what we are, what makes us the beautiful creatures God intended, is within us. It’s what we take with us when we’re called home. We leave our anchors behind and sail off into the horizon.

Remember that the next time you look in the mirror and criticize yourself.

You are more than your anchor.

You are more than your body.

Your body is linked to the very best you have to offer, and that is so much more than the outside.

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Parenting, Serious stuff

Body Image: An issue for mother’s of sons, too

Growing up, I was constantly compared to my super thin sister.  Comments were made about the size of my thighs or how thick my ankles were.  It got to the point where I wouldn’t wear shorts or dresses (though, to be fair, the dresses were truly a tomboy thing) because I didn’t want people to see my legs. Fat was a word used to describe me on countless occasions.

Not by my peers.

But by my family.

Not my best picture (I actually had hair down to my butt.  It's in a braid here.)  Do I look fat to you?

Not my best picture (I actually had hair down to my butt. It’s in a braid here.) Do I look fat to you?

And I believed every word of it.

I was 28 years old before I realized it was a lie.  I was working as a first grade teacher at a local Catholic school where a friend of mine from school also worked.  My family didn’t have a lot of money growing up so I never saw any of the yearbooks from high school.  As a joke, my friend brought in a photocopy of a picture of me during my tenth grade year where I dressed up like a witch for Halloween.  I saw that picture tacked to the bulletin board in the office with a sign asking “Can you guess which teacher this is?” I instantly cried.

“What’s wrong?” Renee asked.  “I thought it was a great costume.  I didn’t even recognize you.”

“It’s not that,” I sniffled.  “Look how thin I am there.”

“Well, yeah,” she said.  “You were tiny in high school.”


No one had ever described me as tiny my entire life.

I sit here at 40 (almost 41) and I am beyond discouraged by what I see in the mirror, not just because I’m not what I want to be, but because there was this whole other person I denied for years all because of the words of people who were supposed to build me up.  And I have to be careful what thoughts I lend voice to.

I hear friends who have daughters always tiptoeing around the issue of their own body image issues.  They worry that it will rub off on their daughters and that they will start to see themselves through that warped mirror, too.

“You don’t have to worry.  You have boys.”

I’m here to tell you that, just because I have sons, I don’t get a free pass.  I am not only modelling the mirror through which they see themselves.  They will also judge every woman in their lives by the same standards that I judge myself.  If that’s not a tall order to fill, I don’t know what is.

So, how do I go from all these feelings of discouragement, anger and helplessness to being a positive role model for my sons?

First, I have to teach them what is important.  My freckled skin, poker straight hair and weight do not define me to them.  They have never once mentioned to me that they wish I looked differently.  Mostly that is because I don’t concentrate on the physical aspects of people.  Of course, I’ve told my sons that they are handsome, but I also tell them that they are hard workers, that they are smart, and that they are kind and loving.

I see that reflected back to me in their behavior when they describe their friends to me.  Once, when Jimmy was five, he had accidentally taken his friend Jeffrey’s hat home with him.  We raced to the school so Jeffrey could have his hat back before he went home.  I had never met the kid so I hadn’t the first clue how to find him in a crowd and Jimmy was no help when I asked him.

“Well, he’s really smart,” Jimmy said.

“Okay, baby, but unless he’s carrying an ‘I’m smart’ sign, I won’t know how to find him.  What does he look like?”

“Well, he has a round face and really short, dark hair.  He’s also very nice, Mom.”

That’s it.  That’s all he could think of to describe sweet Jeffrey to me.  When we got to school, I learned that Jeffrey did, indeed, have a round face and really short, dark hair.  He was a very bright and polite boy.  He was also the only child in the class who happened to be black, but that fact escaped my son.

You see, he saw Jeffrey in a much different mirror than I viewed myself.  As a mom, I gave him a mirror that reflects the value in people and not the superficial.

Someday, I hope I can see myself in that same mirror.  I hope I can see the value in me without that horrible garbage blocking the way.


A Garden Full of Unicorns

There is only one job as rewarding as being a mom, and that’s being an aunt. Nothing compares to seeing my nieces run to me for hugs and loving when I visit, arms spread wide, smiles even wider. I’m sure in that moment I feel better than any celebrity just hearing their name called to receive an Oscar. I know in my heart of hearts that those hugs are just as addictive as any controlled substance on earth, because I’ll take all the hugs I can get from those girls.

Kaitlyn, our youngest niece, is two and just beginning to string words together. We can’t wait to see what thoughts come out of her little mouth because so far she’s proved to be our most stubborn girl. Alexandria, her sister, is five and seems far older than her years.

Alex, as we call her, is an overall sweet and kind girl. She helps me to enjoy the girly side of life, something at which this tomboy has never excelled. I take her to events like fairy parties at the library where we’re immersed in all things gossamer and pink, and I enjoy them only because of the smile I see on her face. She is in love with princesses, which is something we have in short supply in a house full of boys. When she visits, I can count on her to want to watch Strawberry Shortcake cartoons until our heads explode, and I will braid her long locks until my fingers bleed, such is my devotion to this girl.

Over the few years we’ve been blessed with her, I’ve sewn her many things. Since she was three she’s been requesting certain items. She went through a Tinkerbell phase and requested that I sew a Tinkerbell dress that was purple, with wings that really fly. My niece has way more confidence in my creative abilities since I haven’t quite mustered flight. Recently, she has fallen in love with the film Frozen. Since viewing it, she has requested that I sew a gown like Elsa’s, complete with cape and sparkly snowflakes. I’ve lucked out and haven’t had a request for actual wintry powers.

Just recently she said to me, “Aunt Miranda, have you been working on my dress yet?”

“No, sweet pea. Aunt Miranda’s basement flooded and I have to wait to get the house back together before I can start.”

“Oh, okay. I’m sure all you need is a picture because you are a really good sew-er. I’m going to look beautiful. I just know it,” she said, taking my hand and skipping along beside me.

Yeah, crazy confidence in my skills. No pressure.

At her sister Kaitlyn’s birthday party, she solidified my devotion to her. I am, to say the least, overweight. I’ve been struggling with diet and exercise and unable to lose pounds because I’m battling health issues that work against me. It’s highly frustrating to work out eight to ten hours a week and see the scale stagnate or creep up slowly. My weight has been the cause for many tears lately and my confidence in any of my abilities has bottomed out, my self-worth directly connected to the number on the scale.

Alexandria was playing in her sand box with friends, too much fun going on to give her aunt even a second of her time. I said to her, “You know, I’ve been here a couple of hours and I’ve yet to get a hug from you. What’s up with that?”

She smiled her best smile and raced over to me with her arms outstretched. She slammed into me, wrapping her arms around my sadly huge belly. “I love hugging your big old tummy, Aunt Miranda.”

“Well, I’m working hard to lose this belly. With any luck, there won’t be much belly there to hug someday,” I say, feeling more than a little sad at the honesty of small children.

She looked at me and said, “Oh, my gosh, I hope not! I like that you’re so soft!”

I nearly cried, and hugged her harder.

I sat on the patio swing and listened to her and her little friends pretending that her sandcastle molds were planters. They busily filled them with sand and patted them down, sticking little cars on end in the middle, pretending they were flowers.

“Aunt Miranda, do you want me to make you a flower?”

“I would love a flower,” I replied and joined in on an adult conversation while she played.

A few short minutes later, she came to me with an upside down castle turret, filled with sand and a unicorn sticking out of the middle.
“This is the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen,” I exclaimed. She smiled brightly and went back to work.

I found myself wishing I could live in Alexandria’s world forever. In her world nothing is impossible. All one needs to do is find the right person to help make your dream come true and have faith that she can pull it off. She loves people just the way they are, without judgment, and embraces the good in them. Her imagination helps her to see the possibilities that exist in everything. She makes me want to be a better person while still helping me to love life just the way it is.

I want to be the aunt that can manufacture flight.

I want to love that I am so soft.

I want a garden full of unicorns.

I want to make her that dress, even though she’s far more beautiful than it can ever be.