I have mentioned many times that, while I will always have a special place in my heart for the modern Pagan community and their boundless open-mindedness and love of all things quirky, I have trouble identifying with most of them in regards to how I live day to day, as well as my views on what constitutes proper personal behaviour. From what I understand, this is not unusual among reconstructionists of all types. Our longing for tradition and cultural authenticity can often translate into a more old-fashioned, dare I say, conservative, sensibility. While acceptance of our religious practices as a valid, personal relationship to Divinity is highest in the Pagan community (though there will always be those in any group who think way too much of themselves and feel they have a right to tell others how to worship), we often do not share with them common views on moral issues. Many Reconstructionists of all flavors, Celtic, Hellenic, Norse, and others, hold stricter standards in regards to modesty of dress and sexual behavior than our eclectic Pagan and Wiccan friends. It has been my experience that this does not usually lead to a blanket condemnation of others on the part of the Recons, but simply is a distinction we feel we must point out to avoid confusion. It is difficult enough nowadays when even the most diverse Pagan gatherings overwhelmingly cater to Wiccans and magickal people (don't even get me started on the difference between Paganism and magick!) without having to be 1.) homogenized by outsiders and lumped in with other Pagans as "all the same," and 2.) being excluded by other Pagans who do not understand Reconstructionism as "not real Pagans."
I find it a strange position to be in, a sort of cultural limbo. I worship the Greek Pantheon, accept science as objective truth, and respect the rights of all people to have their own personal relationship with Divinity that does not infringe on the rights of others to do the same. In these respects, I fit in quite well with the Pagans. At the same time, I advocate modest dress, am very much pro-life (this extends beyond abortion to an anti-war and anti-death penalty viewpoint, as well as a belief in social justice and the importance of education and opportunity for all people) and see sex as first and foremost procreative (though it is nonetheless a very pleasurable activity in and of itself, and a great gift of the Gods to humankind!). In these respects, I am very much in line with the moral notions of the Abrahamic faiths, particularly Catholicism. The only real difference is in my views on homosexuality and the right of gay and lesbian couples to marry. I do not see any problem with homosexual couples having the same legal rights as heterosexual ones, and I do not buy into the notion that them having these rights in any way infringes on the rights of anyone else. I also do not see homosexuality as harmful in and of itself. Beyond that, my moral and ethical views are nearly indistinguishable from your average Christian, if you do not include those that see simply being Christian as a moral imperative. Frankly, I try to forget those people exist, because assigning a moral imperative to being of a certain faith is about the most evil thing I can imagine, and often has much more to do with exerting political, economic, and even psychological control than with a concern for the souls or moral integrity of others!
This is a very difficult space to occupy, and it is really quite ironic. Those that I share the most in common in my ethical views are those most likely to believe I am an immoral, evil person before they even get to know me, simply because my morality does not stem from a common religious belief! In practical, day-to-day terms, this irony has isolated me from many friends and family members, and has resulted in my developing a knee-jerk defensiveness that can often come off as hostile, even when I do not mean it to be. I feel like I am barking in the dark, screaming to Christians and Pagans alike, "We are not so different that we can't find enough common ground to live together, maybe even like each other! Is this so fucking difficult to understand!?" But, more often than not, all they hear is noise...
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Eusebia: Devotion, Not Compulsion
Ask anyone with even a passing familiarity with Hellenismos what the most important trait is in an adherent, and I am pretty sure most would answer "piety," or perhaps "eusebia," which roughly translates as the same thing, but does have a distinctly Hellenic character. Eusebia is a sense of duty to the Gods born out of a deep reverence and loyalty towards them. One may make the decision to trust their reverent feelings and live out this obligation, but it is impossible to "choose" to be reverent towards the Gods. Observance of ritual or prayer is just hollow words and actions without the desire, possibly even the need, to perform them. You either feel the Gods are a part of your perception of the cosmos, or you do not. Neither way is objectively correct, because religion by it's very nature is subjective. It is not within the scope of the common, observable universe. It is something that has to come from somewhere internal, a personal relationship and connection to the greater reality that can never be forced upon one person or group by another, at least not if it is to remain authentic. This is the most important lesson I have gleaned from my recent studying of various ancient texts (yes, I FINALLY got well enough to be able to focus and do some serious studying), including the Theogony of Hessiod, as well as his Works and Days. The Theogony is like a family tree of the Gods, as well as an "origin" story of them and the cosmos, which in the Hellenic mind, are ultimately one and the same. The Works and Days describe the features and stories of individual Gods themselves, offering the basis for devotional ritual and prayer. They are not, nor do I believe they were ever intended to be, scientific explanations of the universe. They do not describe an objective, universal reality, but rather, they describe the Hellenic view of the ultimate reality, the Hellenic religious "flavor," so to speak. I would never expect a Christian, or Jew, or Hindu, or any other religious practitioner, to experience the reading of these texts the same way I would, or the way any Hellene would experience them, because these are not their Gods. That is not a value judgement, or an attempt to be exclusive, it is a hard fact. It is like having ginger hair. I was born with it, and while I may dye it a different colour, it will still grow out red. I have changed the outside, but not the essence of who I am. It is the same with religion. One may live her entire life going to church and praying to Jehovah/Jesus (and believe me, I nearly gave up and did!), but without the conviction, the desire to do it born of an intimate relationship with that God, Jehovah, and the mythos of Christianity, it is nothing more than a habit, at best. There has to be a personal truth, rather than an external force from family or society, to make religious practice authentic. This is why I never felt the sense of "God speaking to me" that most Christians describe when I tried to pray or worship in a Christian context (living in the United States, it is easy to see "religion" and "Christianity" as interchangeable, especially in the current political climate, and that is a frustrating fact that is worthy of its own blog entry another time). I realize now that the reason for it was simple. Jehovah is not my God, and that is okay. I was never meant to follow that path. As it is now, I see and hear the Gods all the time. They are a part of my life in the deepest, most fundamental sense.
As far back as I can remember, I have had a nagging urge to seek the Divine, to find that which illuminates my being from the inside out, and gives me peace, balance, and clarity. I read many different religious texts from around the world, including the Christian Bible, the Koran, portions of the Talmud, the Rig-Veda, and many others. While I appreciated and saw value in all of these, there was never that inspired, "a-ha!" feeling in any of the knowlege of those other religions. I was also reading a lot of mythology, particularly Greek, but I bought into the modern meaning of "myth," and could not allow myself to see these stories in the same context as religious texts. Still, there was a lingering feeling in me, a connection to them that went deeper than my greek cultural heritage, but I ignored it, as I had no confirmation that it was indeed a religious calling. As I got older, I started following my mother's lead into eclectic Wicca and neo-paganism, but that was even more confusing. Nothing felt authentic in any way. Everything felt made up as they went along. Again, this is not a value judgement. Everyone needs to find religious truth in their own way, but that was not my way. I needed a firmer foundation, an established tradition in which I could root myself. I am grateful to the modern Pagan community, though, because it led me towards reconstructionism, and I discovered that the old Gods are not dead, and they are not "just stories." They are very much alive, and the stories about them are as divine as any other religious canon. I found resources that helped me discover the "whats" and "hows" of ancient greek religious practice and ritual, and delved deeper into the philosophies behind it, and that was that. I finally felt it, the reverance, the religious fervor, that I had been seeking, and the desire to practice the actual methods became a compulsion, something I needed to do because it is a part of who I am. Reading Hesiod's works, I have been given further comfirmation of this, because the act of reading them feels divine, it is a devotional activity akin to any prayer.
As far back as I can remember, I have had a nagging urge to seek the Divine, to find that which illuminates my being from the inside out, and gives me peace, balance, and clarity. I read many different religious texts from around the world, including the Christian Bible, the Koran, portions of the Talmud, the Rig-Veda, and many others. While I appreciated and saw value in all of these, there was never that inspired, "a-ha!" feeling in any of the knowlege of those other religions. I was also reading a lot of mythology, particularly Greek, but I bought into the modern meaning of "myth," and could not allow myself to see these stories in the same context as religious texts. Still, there was a lingering feeling in me, a connection to them that went deeper than my greek cultural heritage, but I ignored it, as I had no confirmation that it was indeed a religious calling. As I got older, I started following my mother's lead into eclectic Wicca and neo-paganism, but that was even more confusing. Nothing felt authentic in any way. Everything felt made up as they went along. Again, this is not a value judgement. Everyone needs to find religious truth in their own way, but that was not my way. I needed a firmer foundation, an established tradition in which I could root myself. I am grateful to the modern Pagan community, though, because it led me towards reconstructionism, and I discovered that the old Gods are not dead, and they are not "just stories." They are very much alive, and the stories about them are as divine as any other religious canon. I found resources that helped me discover the "whats" and "hows" of ancient greek religious practice and ritual, and delved deeper into the philosophies behind it, and that was that. I finally felt it, the reverance, the religious fervor, that I had been seeking, and the desire to practice the actual methods became a compulsion, something I needed to do because it is a part of who I am. Reading Hesiod's works, I have been given further comfirmation of this, because the act of reading them feels divine, it is a devotional activity akin to any prayer.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Ramblings From Someone Hurting
I know I said I was going to make this next post about my thoughts on my recent reading. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get much reading done lately, due to work, taking care of my mother, and dealing with some unexpected health problems of my own. I have very bad sciatica, plus I am still getting over my latest fibromyalgia flare-up, and the pain in my lower back has been literally blinding. Moving too quickly causes everything to go dark and a wave of pain to crash over me, to the point where I have nearly fallen over a few times. As such, my concentration has been shot to hell, and all my energy is focused on simply getting through the day. I will be myself again soon, though, and ready to tackle some serious reading and commentary.
One thing that has been on my mind lately, is a recurring theme I have noticed in a lot of the media I have been consuming. In my favorite tv show (The Walking Dead), as well as my current book obsession (The Hunger Games), there has been a question that keeps popping up as a major theme of those stories. What are you willing to give up, as far as your morality, even your very identity, in order to survive? Is a life without principles deeper than getting your next meal and staying alive another day a life worth living at all? Would you be willing to become everything you once despised, in order to just be? In short, would you be willing to become evil in order to stay alive? Would you kill or maim people who have done nothing to you on the off chance that it may help you live? I have heard a lot of people say that they would, that surviving in and of itself is virtuous, because it means you still have a chance to be good later. But, do you really have a chance like that? If everyone is purely out for themselves in a post-apocalyptic world a la "Walking Dead", or in a forced gladitorial death-match a la "Hunger Games", what motivation is there for anyone to reach out to another, to plant those little seeds of community and trust that civilization is built upon beyond the knowlege that it is the right thing to do? Hope for a better day without taking any actions to create that better day is basically saying "leave it up to someone else. Someone else would find a way to make the world better, in the meantime, I just gotta live." That is never going to work if EVERYONE thinks like that, is it?
Ultimately, I envy those who are so flippant about evil that they are willing to even consider becoming it if it means survival. They must have never truly seen it. I have known what real evil is, I have had it's breath on my face and it's hands on my body, breaking me in every way. I carry the DNA of the only human being I have ever encountered personally that I believe was pure, utter evil. He did not believe he was fully alive unless he was making someone else suffer. He took pleasure in the pain he inflicted. To him, it may have seemed a matter of life or death, because there was such desperation in his actions, such intense purpose in every violent act.
Because I am a part of him, because I carry his genetic material, I have made a conscious choice to develop a sense of morality, and a clear set of principles in order to live peacefully with others, and do the best I can to reach a state of goodness, and perhaps, become some small reflection of the Gods' perfection. I don't expect to be perfect, but I have to at least try for something better than pure selfish survival, because frankly, as tempting as the idea of embracing chaos and discardiing morality may be, IT DOESN'T WORK. You will still die, whether it's in a day or a decade, and it will likely be in as violent and bloodthirsty a manner as which you lived. I watched my father get eaten alive by cancer, losing his nose and a lung in the process, and never find any peace because he still believed that his anger and his agression and his desire to hurt others would sustain him. It did not. I don't want to die like that, and I don't want to live like that, either. I would rather be killed as a result of misplaced compassion than live without compassion at all. Death does not scare me so much as a wasted life sickens me.
One thing that has been on my mind lately, is a recurring theme I have noticed in a lot of the media I have been consuming. In my favorite tv show (The Walking Dead), as well as my current book obsession (The Hunger Games), there has been a question that keeps popping up as a major theme of those stories. What are you willing to give up, as far as your morality, even your very identity, in order to survive? Is a life without principles deeper than getting your next meal and staying alive another day a life worth living at all? Would you be willing to become everything you once despised, in order to just be? In short, would you be willing to become evil in order to stay alive? Would you kill or maim people who have done nothing to you on the off chance that it may help you live? I have heard a lot of people say that they would, that surviving in and of itself is virtuous, because it means you still have a chance to be good later. But, do you really have a chance like that? If everyone is purely out for themselves in a post-apocalyptic world a la "Walking Dead", or in a forced gladitorial death-match a la "Hunger Games", what motivation is there for anyone to reach out to another, to plant those little seeds of community and trust that civilization is built upon beyond the knowlege that it is the right thing to do? Hope for a better day without taking any actions to create that better day is basically saying "leave it up to someone else. Someone else would find a way to make the world better, in the meantime, I just gotta live." That is never going to work if EVERYONE thinks like that, is it?
Ultimately, I envy those who are so flippant about evil that they are willing to even consider becoming it if it means survival. They must have never truly seen it. I have known what real evil is, I have had it's breath on my face and it's hands on my body, breaking me in every way. I carry the DNA of the only human being I have ever encountered personally that I believe was pure, utter evil. He did not believe he was fully alive unless he was making someone else suffer. He took pleasure in the pain he inflicted. To him, it may have seemed a matter of life or death, because there was such desperation in his actions, such intense purpose in every violent act.
Because I am a part of him, because I carry his genetic material, I have made a conscious choice to develop a sense of morality, and a clear set of principles in order to live peacefully with others, and do the best I can to reach a state of goodness, and perhaps, become some small reflection of the Gods' perfection. I don't expect to be perfect, but I have to at least try for something better than pure selfish survival, because frankly, as tempting as the idea of embracing chaos and discardiing morality may be, IT DOESN'T WORK. You will still die, whether it's in a day or a decade, and it will likely be in as violent and bloodthirsty a manner as which you lived. I watched my father get eaten alive by cancer, losing his nose and a lung in the process, and never find any peace because he still believed that his anger and his agression and his desire to hurt others would sustain him. It did not. I don't want to die like that, and I don't want to live like that, either. I would rather be killed as a result of misplaced compassion than live without compassion at all. Death does not scare me so much as a wasted life sickens me.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Ah-CHOO!
I am finally getting over a particularly nasty cold. I think my immune system has taken a beating recently, being so busy with work and helping friends move into their new apartment, which involved keeping their kids, my "adopted" nephews, entertained while they pack stuff and clean up. Being around small children is basically inviting germs to come on in and get comfortable! I don't mind, though. I love the little knee-nibblers.
The hubby has been great, bringing me orange juice and chocolates and giving me hugs when I start getting irrational and overemotional, which seems to happen a lot when I am battling a cold! I haven't really had much to write about lately, but when I am feeling better, I will give some updates on my religious studying and offer my commentary. I am re-reading Hesiod's Theogony and Works and Days, and dipping my toes into some of the Golden Verses of Pythagoras and the writings of some of his followers. If that sentence hasn't completely put you to sleep, you may actually be interested in my thoughts on those writings, so stay tuned!
The hubby has been great, bringing me orange juice and chocolates and giving me hugs when I start getting irrational and overemotional, which seems to happen a lot when I am battling a cold! I haven't really had much to write about lately, but when I am feeling better, I will give some updates on my religious studying and offer my commentary. I am re-reading Hesiod's Theogony and Works and Days, and dipping my toes into some of the Golden Verses of Pythagoras and the writings of some of his followers. If that sentence hasn't completely put you to sleep, you may actually be interested in my thoughts on those writings, so stay tuned!
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Neil Degrasse Tyson Is Freaking Awesome!
I don't have a lot to say right now, I just wanted to share this link.
Some have asked how I can be both religious and still accept evolution and other scientific principles regarding how the universe works. This question reveals more about the one doing the asking than it ever could about me. I have never seen a contradiction between the nature of the gods and the nature of the cosmos. They are one and the same. I suppose this makes my view of the Divine pantheistic, or as Richard Dawkins called it, "sexed up atheism." If you insist on calling me an atheist, I won't hold it against you, but know that it is not the whole story. I accept scientific principles because I have no choice if I want to be intellectually honest and have a clear-eyed view of the physical world around me. I revere the gods because I love what I see when I observe the universe, and feel an emotional connection to the deepest essence of natural phenomena, which is what the gods are. I see no contradiction, and I am baffled by those that do...
Some have asked how I can be both religious and still accept evolution and other scientific principles regarding how the universe works. This question reveals more about the one doing the asking than it ever could about me. I have never seen a contradiction between the nature of the gods and the nature of the cosmos. They are one and the same. I suppose this makes my view of the Divine pantheistic, or as Richard Dawkins called it, "sexed up atheism." If you insist on calling me an atheist, I won't hold it against you, but know that it is not the whole story. I accept scientific principles because I have no choice if I want to be intellectually honest and have a clear-eyed view of the physical world around me. I revere the gods because I love what I see when I observe the universe, and feel an emotional connection to the deepest essence of natural phenomena, which is what the gods are. I see no contradiction, and I am baffled by those that do...
War...(huh, yeah) What Is It Good For?
From the title of this post, I guess it is pretty obvious that I am about to talk about Ares, (or possibly funky music from the 1970s). Actually, Ares has been on my mind quite a bit lately. More specifically, I have been contemplating why this deity is worthy of worship at all. War is supposed to be a bad thing, at least according to our modern perceptions, right? Why would anyone, even the most traditional follower of Hellenismos, want to honor and venerate the incarnation of such a destructive, vile force? I believe the answer to this question lies in understanding the nature of the Hellenic relationship to the gods, and, more precisely, why we worship them.
While the Romans glorified Mars, the Roman equivalent of Ares, as a model for human behavior in their society, the Greeks had a more nuanced, complex relationship with this deity (except perhaps in Sparta, where he was the epitome of masculinity, and their bloodlust and fighting spirit remains unrivaled to this day). He was most certainly given due worship as a god, but it was not in the same vein as the worship of, say, Apollo or Hermes or Zeus. Those gods are revered for qualities that we as humans can and should seek to emulate. We can only benefit from working to become creative, inspired, and industrious, or honing our leadership skills. Ares, on the other hand, represents a facet of existence that, for virtue's sake, must be supressed in order to function in a civilized manner. As the God of War, Ares embodies the physical strength and valor, the raw violence, needed for winning a battle. He is bloodlust, rage, and destruction. While this should not be a model for everyday human behavior, the Greeks understood that it was an inevitable part of the human condition, and sought to direct it appropriately. When one's home or city is threatened, and all efforts at diplomacy or other non-violent interventions or solutions have failed, violent confrontation is the only option if one wishes to have a chance at preservation. This part of humanity can be frightening, especially when you recognize it within yourself, but still wish to be a civilized, rational person. Ares in mythology is a very minor player, and most of the stories involving him end with him being humiliated in some way; put in his place, so to speak. One such story tells of him being caught in a compromising position with Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Her husband Hephaestus, God of Craftsmanship, ensnared them both in a net and offered them up to the other Gods for ridicule and mocking. This speaks to the very common coping mechanism of mocking and laughing at that which frightens us, transforming it into something beneign. It may also speak to how love and sexual intimacy may be the one thing that can tame this beastly instinct and keep it at bay until truly needed. Violence and bloodlust must indeed be kept in their proper place, and not allowed to run rampant, but when it is necessary, it can mean the difference between preservation and annihilation, for an individual or even a society. That is why the Greeks worshipped Ares, not because violence is glorious, but because it is undeniable as a part of humanity, and yes, sometimes, needed in order to protect and preserve. In the Hellenic mind, all that is good is achieved through balance and harmony, and maintaining balance between our higher reasoning/need for cohesive, peaceful community and our baser urges to kill and eviscerate is what brings us closer to the goal of arete, personal moral excellence.
Ares is called upon when we must screw up our courage, set aside propriety and fight for ourselves and our right to be. He is not for petty squabbles or everyday annoyances. He is for the protection of our country, our home, our family and friends, our very way of life. When the stakes are at their highest, Ares is what we need. While he may be frightening, he is a force that is undeniable in it's reality, and it's necessity. We do not worship Ares because war is good, Ares is worshipped because there are times when we need to be bad. It's not a particularly reverent example, but remember the old sitcom "Married With Children?" There was a running gag throughout the series where Al, the Bundy family patriarch, would psyche himself up for a fight or unpleasant task, usually by putting on his old high school football uniform and reliving his glory days while George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone" played in the background. He would finnish his little ritual with a resolved smile and his trademark quip, "Let's Rock..." This is the nature of Ares. He is the actions we are not proud of having undertaken, but accept as our destiny in order to preserve that which we love and that which has greater value than our own pristine ethical track record. In the Greek mind, worship does not stem from a view of the gods as entirely wort-free. Worship stems from recognition of the forces higher than ourselves, and so vast and expansive, our own human morality cannot begin to encompass them. We can only appeal to the forces when they are most needed, and sometimes, we need to be bad.
While the Romans glorified Mars, the Roman equivalent of Ares, as a model for human behavior in their society, the Greeks had a more nuanced, complex relationship with this deity (except perhaps in Sparta, where he was the epitome of masculinity, and their bloodlust and fighting spirit remains unrivaled to this day). He was most certainly given due worship as a god, but it was not in the same vein as the worship of, say, Apollo or Hermes or Zeus. Those gods are revered for qualities that we as humans can and should seek to emulate. We can only benefit from working to become creative, inspired, and industrious, or honing our leadership skills. Ares, on the other hand, represents a facet of existence that, for virtue's sake, must be supressed in order to function in a civilized manner. As the God of War, Ares embodies the physical strength and valor, the raw violence, needed for winning a battle. He is bloodlust, rage, and destruction. While this should not be a model for everyday human behavior, the Greeks understood that it was an inevitable part of the human condition, and sought to direct it appropriately. When one's home or city is threatened, and all efforts at diplomacy or other non-violent interventions or solutions have failed, violent confrontation is the only option if one wishes to have a chance at preservation. This part of humanity can be frightening, especially when you recognize it within yourself, but still wish to be a civilized, rational person. Ares in mythology is a very minor player, and most of the stories involving him end with him being humiliated in some way; put in his place, so to speak. One such story tells of him being caught in a compromising position with Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Her husband Hephaestus, God of Craftsmanship, ensnared them both in a net and offered them up to the other Gods for ridicule and mocking. This speaks to the very common coping mechanism of mocking and laughing at that which frightens us, transforming it into something beneign. It may also speak to how love and sexual intimacy may be the one thing that can tame this beastly instinct and keep it at bay until truly needed. Violence and bloodlust must indeed be kept in their proper place, and not allowed to run rampant, but when it is necessary, it can mean the difference between preservation and annihilation, for an individual or even a society. That is why the Greeks worshipped Ares, not because violence is glorious, but because it is undeniable as a part of humanity, and yes, sometimes, needed in order to protect and preserve. In the Hellenic mind, all that is good is achieved through balance and harmony, and maintaining balance between our higher reasoning/need for cohesive, peaceful community and our baser urges to kill and eviscerate is what brings us closer to the goal of arete, personal moral excellence.
Ares is called upon when we must screw up our courage, set aside propriety and fight for ourselves and our right to be. He is not for petty squabbles or everyday annoyances. He is for the protection of our country, our home, our family and friends, our very way of life. When the stakes are at their highest, Ares is what we need. While he may be frightening, he is a force that is undeniable in it's reality, and it's necessity. We do not worship Ares because war is good, Ares is worshipped because there are times when we need to be bad. It's not a particularly reverent example, but remember the old sitcom "Married With Children?" There was a running gag throughout the series where Al, the Bundy family patriarch, would psyche himself up for a fight or unpleasant task, usually by putting on his old high school football uniform and reliving his glory days while George Thorogood's "Bad to the Bone" played in the background. He would finnish his little ritual with a resolved smile and his trademark quip, "Let's Rock..." This is the nature of Ares. He is the actions we are not proud of having undertaken, but accept as our destiny in order to preserve that which we love and that which has greater value than our own pristine ethical track record. In the Greek mind, worship does not stem from a view of the gods as entirely wort-free. Worship stems from recognition of the forces higher than ourselves, and so vast and expansive, our own human morality cannot begin to encompass them. We can only appeal to the forces when they are most needed, and sometimes, we need to be bad.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Letting Go of Loathing
Something in me has finally snapped. My brain has been either overloaded with more useful thoughts, or has finally rejected the nagging sense of self-loathing that has plagued me as far back as I can remember. I have wasted too many years feeling ugly and unloveable. Seriously, FAR too many years. It is not so unusual to have bouts of self-doubt, and even self-hatred, during one's teen years. In fact, it almost amounts to a cliché. For me, however, I have memories of my 4-year-old self looking into the mirror and speaking aloud to my reflection, "Nobody likes you. You are too tall and you are fat, and people don't like that." In addition to walking, speaking, and reading early, it seems I also got an early jump on insecurity.
Where could this possibly have come from? The easy answer would be to say that it was from my parents, and that's definately a huge contributer. A quick anecdote: When I was little, I had a pink ruffled bathing suit that I adored. I loved the way the ruffles floated on top of the water, and when wet, the shiny magenta material practically sparkled in the sunlight. It appealed to every sprout of girly sensibility taking root in my young mind. One day, my parents and I were going to the beach, and while they scurried around the house gathering the final supplies for a day of fun in the sun, I lay sprawled on the floor watching cartoons in my much-loved bathing suit, waiting to go. Suddenly, my dad walked up behind me and said, "Why the fuck do you wear that thing? You look like a beached whale. I'm embarassed to be seen with you, go put shorts on." I looked down at myself, and saw the expanse of my white, pudgy legs, and nodded in agreement. I went into my room and put on shorts, and a t-shirt for good measure, and refused to take them off all day. Mom heard about what he said later, and in an attempt to comfort me, she said, "Don't listen to him, that bathing suit is actually slimming on you. But it might be a good idea if you didn't eat so many sweets." Bear in mind, these things were being said to a 4-year-old!
That little story illustrates the dynamic between me and my parents throughout the course of my life. Dad insulted me, and I accepted it, because he always said that he loved me and wanted to be honest. Mom didn't like that he said and did cruel things to me, but she always put the burden on me to either repair my relationship with him myself, or to change myself into something he wouldn't want to make fun of. I could go on and on with examples of this, but frankly, I am sick to death of talking about it. I spent enough time and money in therapy rehashing all this to someone who just nodded, wrote a few notes, and told me that I needed to "love myself" (Gee, thanks for telling me something any Hallmark card could have told me). In regards to self-image, my parents pretty much set me up for failure from the start. The incessant bullying throughout my school years from other girls AND from boys (some of which became rather violence and once instance involved dead animals, but that's a story for another day), and our culture's impossible standards of beauty and subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) messages towards women that we are never quite good enough without this make-up, that dress, this cream, that powder, and so on, were the final nails in the coffin. Therapy did a lot to help me recognize how all this played out throughout my childhood and early adulthood, and how it formed my perceptions of myself, but did just about nothing to show me how to move past it. How do you form a new opinion of yourself after the majority of messages you have received from every arena of life have been that you are fat, ugly, unattractive, and that any good qualities you may have just don't make up for these defects? Even those that have tried to be supportive have usually framed their support around the notion that ,yes, I am ugly, but I have a "great personality." Even the most supportive people in my life have made it clear that I have some sort of defect. My husband is literally the only person who has ever told me that I am beautiful with no qualifications, no "you have such a pretty face, now if you could only drop a few pounds," or "you are unconventionally beautiful" (anyone with an IQ higher than a tomato's knows that this is condescending and does not make anyone feel better about themselves). To him, I am simply beautiful, no ifs, ands, or buts. I appreciate that everyday, but if that were the reason why I have given up on hating myself and seeing myself as ugly, then it would have happened a long time ago rather than today. For some reason or another, I am over hating my looks. I am done with basing my opinion of myself on how others see me.
But, what caused this? Truly, I do not know, but it has happened. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning and I paused for a moment. I looked at myself and spoke aloud, just as I did when I was little. "Fuck them all," I said, "I am beautiful, and no one else's words will ever change that." This is something I have been told to say in front of the mirror by quite a few well-meaning people, but it never had any effect before now. I feel beautiful. I feel worthy. Could it have been the spontanaity of the moment? Could it be that all the therapy and friendly advice finally sunk in after a long delay? Could it be that I have finally outgrown some sort of 28-year awkward phase, and I am now indeed a good-looking human being? Truly, I do not know. All I know is that I am done with this bullshit self-loathing. It has been lifted out of me and I feel lighter, more free. I don't think this is a religious experience, but I imagine this is how Christians feel when they are "saved," or when shamans enter into a different plane of existence in a state of ecstasy and receive some sort of wisdom from beyond. Something dirty and defiling has been removed from me, and has been replaced with a deep awareness of myself as a unique human being, possessing beauty purely by virtue of existing. I refuse to let this feeling go away, even after the inevitable happens and I am snickered at in the grocery store, or unabashedly pointed at on the street. I don't know where this newfound appreciation of myself has come from, but my sheer will and determination is going to keep it around.
Where could this possibly have come from? The easy answer would be to say that it was from my parents, and that's definately a huge contributer. A quick anecdote: When I was little, I had a pink ruffled bathing suit that I adored. I loved the way the ruffles floated on top of the water, and when wet, the shiny magenta material practically sparkled in the sunlight. It appealed to every sprout of girly sensibility taking root in my young mind. One day, my parents and I were going to the beach, and while they scurried around the house gathering the final supplies for a day of fun in the sun, I lay sprawled on the floor watching cartoons in my much-loved bathing suit, waiting to go. Suddenly, my dad walked up behind me and said, "Why the fuck do you wear that thing? You look like a beached whale. I'm embarassed to be seen with you, go put shorts on." I looked down at myself, and saw the expanse of my white, pudgy legs, and nodded in agreement. I went into my room and put on shorts, and a t-shirt for good measure, and refused to take them off all day. Mom heard about what he said later, and in an attempt to comfort me, she said, "Don't listen to him, that bathing suit is actually slimming on you. But it might be a good idea if you didn't eat so many sweets." Bear in mind, these things were being said to a 4-year-old!
That little story illustrates the dynamic between me and my parents throughout the course of my life. Dad insulted me, and I accepted it, because he always said that he loved me and wanted to be honest. Mom didn't like that he said and did cruel things to me, but she always put the burden on me to either repair my relationship with him myself, or to change myself into something he wouldn't want to make fun of. I could go on and on with examples of this, but frankly, I am sick to death of talking about it. I spent enough time and money in therapy rehashing all this to someone who just nodded, wrote a few notes, and told me that I needed to "love myself" (Gee, thanks for telling me something any Hallmark card could have told me). In regards to self-image, my parents pretty much set me up for failure from the start. The incessant bullying throughout my school years from other girls AND from boys (some of which became rather violence and once instance involved dead animals, but that's a story for another day), and our culture's impossible standards of beauty and subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) messages towards women that we are never quite good enough without this make-up, that dress, this cream, that powder, and so on, were the final nails in the coffin. Therapy did a lot to help me recognize how all this played out throughout my childhood and early adulthood, and how it formed my perceptions of myself, but did just about nothing to show me how to move past it. How do you form a new opinion of yourself after the majority of messages you have received from every arena of life have been that you are fat, ugly, unattractive, and that any good qualities you may have just don't make up for these defects? Even those that have tried to be supportive have usually framed their support around the notion that ,yes, I am ugly, but I have a "great personality." Even the most supportive people in my life have made it clear that I have some sort of defect. My husband is literally the only person who has ever told me that I am beautiful with no qualifications, no "you have such a pretty face, now if you could only drop a few pounds," or "you are unconventionally beautiful" (anyone with an IQ higher than a tomato's knows that this is condescending and does not make anyone feel better about themselves). To him, I am simply beautiful, no ifs, ands, or buts. I appreciate that everyday, but if that were the reason why I have given up on hating myself and seeing myself as ugly, then it would have happened a long time ago rather than today. For some reason or another, I am over hating my looks. I am done with basing my opinion of myself on how others see me.
But, what caused this? Truly, I do not know, but it has happened. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror this morning and I paused for a moment. I looked at myself and spoke aloud, just as I did when I was little. "Fuck them all," I said, "I am beautiful, and no one else's words will ever change that." This is something I have been told to say in front of the mirror by quite a few well-meaning people, but it never had any effect before now. I feel beautiful. I feel worthy. Could it have been the spontanaity of the moment? Could it be that all the therapy and friendly advice finally sunk in after a long delay? Could it be that I have finally outgrown some sort of 28-year awkward phase, and I am now indeed a good-looking human being? Truly, I do not know. All I know is that I am done with this bullshit self-loathing. It has been lifted out of me and I feel lighter, more free. I don't think this is a religious experience, but I imagine this is how Christians feel when they are "saved," or when shamans enter into a different plane of existence in a state of ecstasy and receive some sort of wisdom from beyond. Something dirty and defiling has been removed from me, and has been replaced with a deep awareness of myself as a unique human being, possessing beauty purely by virtue of existing. I refuse to let this feeling go away, even after the inevitable happens and I am snickered at in the grocery store, or unabashedly pointed at on the street. I don't know where this newfound appreciation of myself has come from, but my sheer will and determination is going to keep it around.
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