Eat the Damn Cake

So, special treat, Stephanie is back! Since I’m losing my mind due to the tons of things that I have to do right this very moment, I begged her to write another post. And she, taking pity on me, and also just getting tired of me crawling all over her floor, agreed. Here she is!

I have struggled in the past with worrying that I am prideful, or too vain—often in
conjunction with my writing or academic work, or during presenting in classes or
at conferences. I, as a young Christian woman who grow up in a rural, conservative
area, have internalized too many messages about the sins of pride and vanity. I
say to myself, “Humility is truly Christian, and underused today.” “I know how
successful I am, I don’t need to trumpet it.” I feel like I’m boasting on every single
line item of my CV. It’s problematic. I’m working on it.

However, I don’t feel vain at all when I say, with all seriousness, “I look good and
have no problem saying I never feel down on my looks.”

Since I last wrote about this topic, I have tried to sort out the difference between
vanity and self-esteem.

I guess I want to begin by saying that I find it really troublesome that so many young
women fall prey to self-doubt, and have no problem parroting unfounded doubts
about themselves. Even young, talented, attractive movie stars feel compelled to
say, “I feel really insecure, and still don’t believe I’m beautiful.” Maybe I’ve spent too
many years under the tutelage of good therapists, but I’ve learned that if people I
trust tell me one thing, and I continue to doubt it— maybe I ought to re-examine the
inner voice, rather than continue to doubt.

I am personally frustrated by so many women friends—great writers, fantastic
minds, successes one and all—and good looking—who cannot take a compliment,
who cannot believe every other voice when it comes to their appearances, and who
devote time every day to disbelieving in their own power and beauty.

Maybe I’m blessed, or statistically unusual, in having all attractive friends. If I
break out a wedding party photo, you will unequivocally admit that all 21 of us are
hot. It’s an incredible photograph, like a Vogue spread. And yet—I’ve heard every
single woman, and some of the men, in the photo describe their [self-perceived]
unattractiveness. Something here just isn’t right. Something is seriously amiss.

I have a dear friend who apologizes unnecessarily. Like, she apologizes for the [self-
perceived] ugliness of her house, the [self-perceived] misbehavior of her child, of
how bored I must be in her presence, of how offensive I must find her tiredness,
her choice of meal, etc. How many times have I said to her, “Oh, no, I don’t; please
don’t apologize”? Dozens of times. In my mind, in my heart, I think, “Do you think
I’m a liar? I said ‘I don’t mind,’ ‘I like you,’ ‘I like being here,’ ‘I like your child,’ you
shouldn’t be sorry, I’m serious.” I don’t know what else to say.

I have a similar sensation hearing young women my age bemoan their [self-
perceived] ugliness. If I have told you, “You look amazing,” if others have

complimented your breasts, your hair, your legs, your figure, your lips…

Are we liars? Why do you put more weight in your inner negative self-face when
you have no other evidence to support those otherwise unfounded notions?

I started to see this pattern among female voices a few years ago, and it bothered
me. My therapists pointed out the power of negative self-talk, and the power of self-
talk even when unfounded by reality.

I started looking at what I say or could say or might say about myself, and whether
or not I had evidence for my conclusions about myself. I decided not to deflect
compliments, to take pleasure in my body and the way I look, and to listen to voices
(from everyone from loved ones to strangers) that said I look great.

I think this is an important step to take, as a feminist, in a world where we women
are inundated with constant and constantly constructed versions of “beauty.”

My saying, “I believe you when you tell me I look great,” is also me saying, “My inner
voice about physical beauty can be polluted by a lot of false things. And I am not
going to be unreasonable, and I am not going to give too much weight to an internal
voice that might not be completely accurate.”

It bothers me that women either do spend or have to spend so much time on
appearances.

I want to be a teacher, and historian, a presenter of new ideas, a writer. I do love
dressing, and hair, and make-up, and my body, but I don’t want to spend my day
thinking about those things… or allowing myself to be crippled by those things.
Especially if my male counterparts aren’t carrying around similar baggage. It isn’t
fair; it doesn’t make sense.

From my Christian perspective, pride is a sin because it means (in part) that I
think myself high, perhaps higher than my God. That I am incapable of humbling
myself, incapable of feeling humility, of craving mercy. Also, honestly, pride and
vanity make self foremost—sealing one’s sense of self into a brittle sense of “more
important.”

It might instead be that constantly gazing at one’s self and bemoaning one’s looks is
actually vain—it’s a constant, unremitting self-gaze that does no one good.

Not participating in the culturally sanctified self-flagellation of “I’m not pretty
enough, my hair isn’t blonde enough, my waist isn’t whittled enough,” is not based
in reality. It’s a kind of mortification, but it isn’t spiritually or academically rigorous,
it isn’t connected to any kind of truth, and it doesn’t get us very far in our lives.
Certainly not if we’re self-flagellating with ideas that aren’t actually founded in
physical reality.

If I have a real stump in my eye, let me reflect unceasingly on it, that I may come to understand its significance, and seek to grow past it. Worrying about my
appearance, spending time and energy cutting myself down (when I could be
teaching, preaching, writing, making love, working for justice, singing to myself in
the bath, reading…) does no good, serves no truth, and runs counter to Truth I have
heard, recognize, and believe.

I guess, in short, vanity and pride cripple us spiritually, disconnect us from God, coat
us in un-reality, and stop up our ability to relate to ourselves and to one another.

Self-acceptance, in contrast, means that we accept what other voices and evidence
show to be true, discern whether our negative self-tapes might be flawed, open us
up to further truth and reality, and free up our time for good, self-less relationship
and work.

Finally, I think of another Christian idea, of fruit. As in, “Does this bear fruit, and
what kind of fruit does it bear?” We can think about “bearing fruit” in any endeavor.
For example: What is the fruit of having a hard conversation with a parent? If I only
end up feeling like the right one, self-satisfied, that isn’t good fruit. If I open myself
to another opinion, and a real life-affirming connection takes place, that’s good fruit.

Consider running a negative self-tape about your upper arms, again and again,
throughout a day. What is the fruit of that?

Maybe you get to commiserate with co-workers. Maybe you purchase a cardigan
that you can’t afford. Maybe you read several “upper arm help” magazine articles
on the way home, instead of focusing on something you love. Maybe you resist a
compliment about how great you feel in an embrace from your lover. Maybe you
don’t look forward to family portrait because you hate the way you look. What is
the fruit of all that? Is that the kind of woman you are created and called to be?

Imagine instead if you say, simply, “My upper arms are what they are. I have been
told several times that I look amazing, feel amazing, look hot in this dress… I don’t
feel like devoting any more time listening to a self-tape that doesn’t really have any
evidence in reality, and doesn’t serve me or my life with any truth or goodness.”

What is the fruit of that? Can you imagine how you might move through life
differently? How your energy might move from self-criticism to… to what? What
might be the result of spending that energy elsewhere?

The real fruit of vanity or pridefulness, if I were to discern, would be—I think—
a ringing falseness in my ears, an over-attention to my appearance, physical
appearances, wealth and consumer goods, a harshness when considering standards
of grace and beauty. A muting of self- and other-acceptance, a stunting of my ability
to see myriad-splendored [real] beauty in the world. A displacement of my gifts and
abilities.

If I look at the fruits of self-acceptance, of recognizing that I look good, and moving
forward from there, I see: a pleasure in my body and physicality, a joy in being with
an appreciating others, an opening up—like flesh of ripe fruit—of possibility in the
world, a joyfulness, and a freedom from feeling “I need more, I want more, I will
purchase or examine or accumulate more.”

If I compare the two possible fruits, it’s obvious to me that only the latter is based
in reality, only the latter is life-affirming and sustaining, and only the latter enriches
my life.

So for me, believing that I look good isn’t a step into vanity or self-illusion. It’s an
acceptance of truth and grace, and a willingness to turn off an un-Truthful self-voice
in favor of seeking the better fruits of this life.

*  *  *

Stephanie’s Un-roast: I love my hair. It’s silky, and the perfect color, and I’ve been petting it all day today because it feels great. I also love the new summer freckles in my decolletage. Very attractive.

Stephanie— I can’t help but feel like the upper-arm stuff was directed at me. Maybe I really should stop talking about them so much….