Dancing to the Family Music

Found here

I love this picture that I came across while reading adoption blogs. This little girl is taking on a pose that speaks an international language: "Look at me! I like what I have on and it's fun to look pretty and dolled up. Do you like it as much as I do?"

I used to be a little, flirtatious girly girl when I was little. Mother used to make us cute little dresses with crinolines in them. Yes, they scratched our legs, but it was fun to prance around while everyone oohed and ahhhed about how cute I was.

It's been awhile...

The other day I was driving through traffic and it suddenly came to me that I don't like how I've been looking lately. Oh yes, my weight continues to be problematic. But there's more. Today while watching an Oprah episode (so much for working from home) and looking at the way the women dressed, I had a wave of nostalgia. There was a time when I took great care about how I dressed and presented myself. It was during the last couple years of grad school and I was putting my best foot forward. Suddenly I had surgery, got married, and inherited financial and stepchild responsibilities. And the words of Dr. Oz to a show participant resonated with me: "You've been under real stress taking care of everyone else and you haven't taken care of yourself."

I've thought this before, but I've not experientially gotten it before today. It's easy to point to step-children and tell myself that I'm taking on much more than I need to. Or that I'm caretaking people too much, or investing my money in everyone else but me. But it's more. (Warning: this may sound like a harrangue so you may wish to stop reading here).

Some years ago I went on a lifestyle/diet change and lost 35 lbs. It made a world of difference in how I felt physically and emotionally. While the weight was dropping off, I realized one day that I had never felt entitled to looking pretty, sexy, or well dressed. This has never been a priority in my family, even though respectability has been a cherished value. I don't ever recall being told by either parent that I was attractive, or that I was a good catch. I was often told that there were no men good enough for me, but those comments did not encourage or give me any feedback about how I looked or what I could attain because of my charm, intelligence, or beauty. The feeling I got was one of futility: No one is good enough so why get my expectations up that there will be anyone for me?

There was never any conversation about what my parents hoped for me, or the kind of man I would marry. Marriage was never mentioned in reference to me, so I thought it was for everyone else but not me. My siblings made fun of me and how I looked: my body, my clothes, my demeanor. It never dawned on me that others might not share their views.

Several men lost interest in me after they met my parents or siblings. So I thought that it made no difference how I looked or behaved. This idea meshed well with the lifestyle of the farm families among whom we lived. Our neighbors wore jeans and floppy, old work shirts with sneakers or sensible shoes. People in that rural community who weren't farmers dressed very presentably but simply for the most part.

Now I live in Southern California and there is a lot more emphasis on dress, hair, weight, make up. I'm a professor who is the director of clinical training for my department and liaison to community agencies who collaborate with us in providing clinical placements for our students. Every time I go out on a site visit, I scrutinize the clothes in my closet sadly. Most everything is so sensible and frumpy that I can hardly stand to be seen in it. The image of Stepdaughter #1's wrinkled nose and raised eyebrows when she looks at me comes to mind. Stepdaughter #2's comment, "This, you should only wear when you work in the yard," and Stepdaughter #3's remark, "You need to have a makeover" resounds in my head. As I joked to one friend, very little about my appearance represents what I want to project.

I used to be a devoted clothes shopper. It was fun and a very real reprieve from writing a dissertation. Especially when I had the Mall of America and two outlet malls to shop in. Now Sam and I are puffy, well-fed, middle-aged people who are comfortable with each other and caught up in careers and family life. Both of us are considerably heavier than when we got married. So although I've griped about my weight and wardrobe before, I've not taken the time to think about the assumptions that underlie my current emotional circumstances. Do I think about others' needs more than mine? Yes. My assumption is that it's easier to meet theirs than mine. I do for others because it gives me great satisfaction and joy. I think it's my nature. Do I put more money into the family than me? Of course. Most mothers (and some step-mothers) do.

Is this level of self-abnegation and neglect warranted?

No.

Am I still dancing to my "family music?"

Yes.

The little girl in the picture above is pretty delighted about looking pretty and feeling good in her darling little dress. It's time for me to pay attention to my appearance in a new way. I love my job, my life, and my husband who often tells me, "Thank God, I married a beautiful woman!" My students admire me and colleagues enjoy me. Community members look up to me and ask my advice. I would like to know that I am dressed appropriately: up to date, bright colors, nicely put together outfits. I want to be as un-self-conscious in liking me as the little girl in the picture.

I think it will take some time, but I'm going to.