Female Body Image: Care to Share?

Female body image. Not a simple subject, is it.

We carry our personal histories, our inherited traits, and we’re bombarded by conflicting messages from the time we’re little girls. So how do we make sense of it? Do we, ever?

I find I have questions, as I’m finding my way to my own answers. But I would like to ask you about your experience as well, directly.

Do you believe that a woman’s warmth and beauty truly translates on the flat screen or glossy page – at any age?

What about a mature woman? Must we go beyond the visual to impart the aura of womanliness through actual presence – our scent, our gestures, the nuanced tone of voice, the touch of a hand?

I am intrigued by the concept of what we communicate and how we do so, through our female bodies and our body language.

If you are a woman who is potentially interested in sharing your thoughts in a related project on female body image, would you consider getting in touch? You may use the contact email on my About page. And I promise to reply.

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Getting Naked

When’s the last time you got naked?

When’s the last time you got naked and felt good about it?

It occurs to me how infrequently we get naked once we’re no longer kids. Sure, if you’re a nudist, you get naked on a regular basis. Naturally, we get naked when we bathe.

But what about bed time, sliding under the sheets with the one we love? Do we leave the lights on and linger? Do we get naked without shame or fear of scrutiny? Without our own judgment?

Most likely if you’re a woman – regardless of how you look – you get naked with trepidation – with your partner, and possibly with yourself. Anyone care to offer a differing experience?

I’d love to be wrong.

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Parisian Parenting: Should We Take a Lesson?

Some say American mothers should just chillax. Come to think of it, my sons have been telling me that for years.

Some say the French are nonchalant about their parenting. Or, at the very least, they don’t sweat it in the same way as we – the Anglo-Saxon types – seem to do.

In fact, to hear Debra Ollivier tell the tale, mothers in France have a very different approach to their children.

In reading her spot-on Huffington Post article highlighting differences between French parents and their American counterparts, may I offer you this line plucked from her copy, which pretty much sums it up?

Where childhood trumps adulthood in the States, the opposite is largely true in France.

Is this nothing more than another stereotype or generalization about the French?

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Trust Fund

He comes to me in dream and this is the third time in so many months and he is as alive as he was 30 years ago when I loved him. I am startled at each appearance; he is the model of every girl’s desire or certainly mine: tall and lanky, black-haired and with oceanic eyes, handsome, yet not in a chiseled way or an arrogant knowing; there is a roundness in his face revealing a careful life or a pampered one, though it is only later that I know both to be deception.

His smile always brightened when I met him on the stairs in the January cold and the February cold and the flagrant insistence of the March wind when he would offer to whisk me away to an island and I would laugh, and then decline. In those months of brittle mornings he placed the first cup of coffee between my gloved hands and it was steaming and strong and we walked together; he hooked my arm in his and we took the icy stairs down into the heated belly of the station.

He comes to me in trust during these visits: trust in our relationship, trust that I will see him, trust that I will hear him out. He comes to me as I am standing in our city: we are both young though he is an older young and I feel unbalanced and wobbly in tapered heels that catch in the cobblestone street. I am perched at the top of a dark descent and I see him waving from the bottom, and I know him by his stance and his gestures, and his reliable stature, even from a great distance.

“He is not a ghost,” I tell myself. “I will go, and I will return.”

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Not Talking

Are you a talker? What sort of talker? Do you prefer skimming the surface or do you dare to dig deeper? What about exploring topics that may challenge those around you – or for that matter, yourself?

You talkin' to ME??Are you a good listener? Are you attentive to both spoken and unspoken messages? Tuned into body language, tone of voice, even hesitations and pauses? Do you deflect or reinterpret what you don’t want to hear?

I like to think I’m reasonably adept at speaking my mind, at doing so delicately if needed, and knowing when to probe as well as to pull back. Yet in recent months, I have come to realize how much I don’t talk about, and I’m wondering why.

Some of the reason is surely that I never knew how to broach the subjects at hand.

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Older But Wiser

Do we truly gain wisdom with age, or is this something we tell ourselves to offset the inevitable signs of growing older?

According to an article in the New York Times Education Blog, there’s increasing evidence that what I might term “wisdom” is a demonstrable aspect of growing older, and all the more so, when we’ve benefited from higher education.

What do you think? Do you believe that college – the fact of having attended – can influence your aging process many decades later? If not formal higher education, what about ongoing learning that you undertake yourself?

Apparently, all of the above helps maintain our brain function as the years pass.

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Making Marriage Work

This morning I came across one of those aggregating pseudo-newspapers in which I’m mentioned as a “news spotter.”

That always surprises me, and of course I’m curious to see what is referenced. In this case, one of my posts on adult children of divorce sat just above a link on a book called Making Divorce Work.

That’s quite an effective title I think – short, upbeat – and reflecting our collective cultural desire to simplify what is exceedingly complex.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s much to be gained from many of the sources in print and online to do with divorce. I wish they had been around when I was engaged in the divorcing process. But my immediate thought? Shouldn’t we be flooding the market with books on making marriage work?

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SAD

I admit to moodiness.

I admit to a bout of the blues this week.

I admit, I’m feeling sad.

I also recognize that I’m sleep deprived, in recovery mode from Kid Overload and Post-Holiday Happenings, and I’m in serious need of a dose of sunshine.

It’s January. It’s cold and gray and I’m not at my best in the cold or gray – unless of course it’s Paris. And trust me, I’m not in Paris.

Besides. I have things on my mind. Hard things. Complicated things. I’d like to curl up and hibernate, but that isn’t an option. I believe we refer to that little reality as Adulthood, and yes, with a capital A.

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Exit Strategies

“What goes into potato leek soup besides potatoes and leeks?”

I blink to clear my eyes. I look at the country code on the cell display. Switzerland.

“And chicken stock,” he adds.

Okay then. He’s arrived.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

I glance at the clock. It’s early. I had tried to stay awake through the night until his call, but I’d fallen asleep despite my best efforts. It’s afternoon on the other side of the Atlantic. And apparently, he’s hungry.

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Does Your Marital Status Define You?

I never thought much about the fact that I was single.

I was me. Marital status had nothing whatsoever to do with who I was: my passions, my beliefs, my friendships, how I conducted my life.

I might even go so far as to say that marital status had little to do with my dreams. I knew what I wanted – to write, to learn, to travel, to become knowledgeable and respected in subjects I found interesting. I wanted to distinguish myself.

I wanted to love. I wanted to be loved.

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