Every Square Inch

I just took a shower, and then put lotion on every inch of my skin.

I assure you I have never before done anything to every inch of my skin, short of sweating many a summer (and spring, and fall) day in Texas.

About 18 times along the way I tried to shortcut the plan.

I don’t really need to go below my knees…..my arms are fine…..getting the middle of my back is hard, that’s good enough….sheesh…

But every time I made that tiny (and let’s admit it - tiny) extra effort I was delighted to feel like I was rediscovering a new part of my body, that long neglected something-or-other that didn’t command any particular negative attention from the Big Bad Wolf, but is sort of blobbed into the hazy grey of everything-else-except-those-very-few-parts-of-me-I-think-are-pretty-ok.

This whole process took about four minutes, and I’ll go ahead and say it was pretty flippin’ revolutionary for little old me.

And actually “little” and “old” describe with a fair degree of accuracy the range of the physical growth scale I seem to inhabit. 

Little: I’m the baby of the family and no matter how much I grow I never catch up to my big brothers. I rely—confessed with something less shameful than shame, but still some not-so-proud-of-ness—on my little girl charms way too often. It’s a defense at times, a “this is the best chance I have for this person/these people to like me,” and sometimes it can be just plain crushing to my 34 year old self esteem. 

Old: I’m 34, and that’s, like, almost 40… (Maybe at 40 I’ll finally identify as a woman rather than a girl??) I feel old in that I’m worried about the day I wake up in a body that no longer feels (or looks) like mine and will have missed All the Days of taking advantage of loving the heck out of the one I once had. 

I don’t feel grown up yet, but worry that I’ll suddenly be, well, too grown up. 

Little girl going on little old lady.

Love, love, love…..love….love, love…..love…..

Love.

Real actually love is what I showed myself today. The kind that shows, not tells. 

I can make the effort to put on flattering clothes and make up, poise myself in the mirror in the best angle of light, and breathe a small sigh of relief as I tell the reflection (with at last a shred of conviction and belief!) that she’s beautiful before snapping an obligatory selfie that will probably never be posted. 

But to take four precious minutes out of my day (says the girl who took pleeeeenty of “precious minutes” to do a great many other less than useful things since she woke up) to even acknowledge—let alone praise and do something nice for—every part of my miraculous freaking body (have you given any thought today to just how insanely cool these things are??)

That’s new.

That’s big.

It’s kind of the biggest thing, actually. 

Our intentions, our a-ttentions, are the most powerful tools we have. It’s what aligns us with the good stuff, the stuff we want, and makes the signs and arrows along the way a lot more easily recognized as such.

As much as some part of me has wanted it, my intention hasn’t actually been to be healthy and the best physical version of myself that I can be. How could it be when I’ve been ignoring and avoiding and turning away from the things that would actually make it possible? There’s a deeper intention at work.

And it’s one that’s pretty hard to look at.

Before I wrote this, or knew I would write it, I made myself jot down some of the yucky thoughts that my post shower shower of love brought up:

I’m not allowed to be beautiful

Why do I deserve to love my body when so many others can’t/don’t love their own

People will think I’m trying too hard if I take care of myself

People will think I’m vain if I take care of myself

My beauty makes other people feel bad about themselves

Deep breath……

Yeah, those are hard things for me to look at. 

I’d like to say that it’s been a while since another woman has said to me, “I hate you; you’re so skinny!” 

But it hasn’t. 

I’d also like to say that the last time it did I didn’t respond by saying, “Oh thanks! I hate you, too!”—hopefully said with enough reluctant sarcasm to not be quite so awkward….

But I did, and it was.

You don’t diminish others when you shine. 

And you certainly don’t make them feel better about themselves by putting yourself down. (See ridiculous above example.) 

You deserve to love you. Wait, scratch that. You don’t have to deserve it. 

Just do it.

Four precious minutes at a time.