Dear Girlfriends,

It was a warm afternoon in May; I was fourteen years old. My Mammaw, who had carefully sewn my junior high graduation dress, gazed over my shoulder as we studied my reflection in the mirror. The tailor-made "gown" fell to my ankles - my first long dress, with matching shoes! Amazed at the girl looking back at me, I remember telling Mammaw, "I look so pretty." I'm embarrassed to share with you that this is the last time I can remember thinking such flattering thoughts about my physical appearance.

Sometime in my early twenties, my self-critique of my appearance moved from observant to painfully critical. The Pushmi-Pullyu of Perfection had me on the run and to be honest with you - I'm not sure, even today, who's chasing who. You, too?

Why can't we be pleased - even better, be thrilled - with our healthy bodies and faces kissed with the engaging stories of character and experience?

It was the beast of perfection, girlfriends, that was driving me to increase my workouts. My mach-seven metabolism is finally beginning to slow. Hormones and age have begun to have their way with me. (A side note for my cousins: you can stop that laughing right now - I can hear you.) My muscle tone is waning and there are more and more outfits in my closet that seem to not make it into my wardrobe rotation, if you know what I mean.

Last month, I realized I can either embrace these changes and delight in my good health or I can spend more time on the treadmill. Still trying to catch my pushmi-pullyu of a perfect appearance, I hit the endless rubber belt and stretched my weekly workouts by another two hours. After about four weeks of running fast and going nowhere, I decided that investing more time and energy in my appearance was diminishing my enjoyment of my morning routine. A triple whammy! I not only sacrificed the other things I enjoy doing, I began to dread my workout altogether, and my thighs were still chubby! I realized it was time to stop obsessing about my new extra pounds and be grateful for my flexibility, agility, and energy.

Experts believe that the value our society has placed on youthful beauty is at the heart of the problem. They're right - but here's the kicker. We're society. We're the ones who have stood back and allowed, even encouraged, this focus on appearance that has produced a generation of vanity that is shameful - and, for many families with young women suffering from eating disorders and mothers disfigured from plastic surgery, painful. Ladies, what are we doing? What if we invested the time, money, and energy we expend on our appearance into making the world a better place for our children and grandchildren; for our community? I think we need to reassess:

• Would losing a few inches make my jeans fit better? Absolutely.
• Would dropping five pounds allow me to squeeze the ever-lovin' life out of the next sixty seconds? Not likely.
• Would a perfect appearance make me a woman of substance? Not in a million years.

I know I haven't yet caught my pushmi-pullyu of a perfect appearance, but this week I have her cornered. When you catch yours, we can corral them together; and we'll all be better - as we provide a healthy example for our next generation of women.

Giving it a rest,
Ellen

Posted by Ellen on June 5, 2007 2:16 PM  |  Category: The Pushmi-Pullyu of Perfection