The Things That Can’t Be Photoshopped

Last night I got my preview photos back from the photographer who took our family photos. This triggered my annual “dear God, THAT’S how I look?” moment.

First comes the blindsided-ness.

Followed by the regret for my hair choices (why did I shave my head this summer? I miss my hair), my make-up choices (why did I choose not to wear any?), and my wardrobe choices (I didn’t like how I looked wearing that outfit in last year’s photos; why did I think I’d like it in this year’s). Never mind that I had made all those choices for deliberate reasons (I had shaved my head because the chlorine from the pool was drying out my hair and I hated the feel of swim caps. I chose not to wear any make-up because I don’t normally wear it, I was happy enough with how I looked while I was getting ready, and I didn’t like how my make-up looked last year. I had chosen my outfit with satisfaction, because I was happy that I fit into the same outfit as the prior year for the first time in my adult life).

Followed by the “why didn’t anyone tell me” self-talk. Why didn’t my husband tell me my hair was thinning on the side of my head I sleep on at night? I wonder if the photographer can do something about that in the photos? And why didn’t she  tell me that my giant boobs looked comically out of proportion to the rest of my body in that pose? Why didn’t anyone tell me my skin was almost as pale as my husband’s (who has naturally fair skin) after spending most of the time indoors this summer due to the fact that my injury required me to take a break from lifting and that break led to back aches and those back aches meant I wasn’t up for hiking in the woods and I basically hate summer if I am not in the shade? As if pointing out someone’s aesthetic idiosynchracies is ever something I would advocate doing….

At the same time, I know the the photos are excellent. They capture my family having fun. They capture my four year old’s silliness and sleepiness and tantrums. They are great and I am going to share them with friends once the final ones are ready.

So I had to notice all those feelings, and remind myself that I feel pretty great this week in the same body I don’t love looking at in photos.

Then I noticed I was hungry and it was dinner time, yet I felt torn about feeding myself dinner after looking at the photos. “Wow,” I thought. “The social conditioning of the belief that fat people don’t deserve to give themselves the food they need is strong.” I chose to notice that feeling, acknowledge that it was bullshit, and eat dinner anyway.

So I went to bed feeling pretty shitty. And woke up early ruminating on the same thoughts. And then it hit me…..while I was ruminating on that negative self-talk, I hadn’t once thought about the news we got a couple days ago that my mother-in-law’s cancer has progressed to the point where they are stopping the chemotherapy. I hadn’t once thought about how sad I was about the fact that my mother-in-law is terminally ill. How much we will miss her. How my father-in-law will be all alone after over four decades of marriage to his best friend and how worried I am about how lonely and sad he will feel. How my husband will lose his mother.  And holy shit, all that is really sad and painful and scary to think about.

In my therapy sessions we have been talking about how body talk seems to be a coping mechanism for me. It serves to distract me from other uncomfortable feelings. So I can use it as a tool, or a flag, and ask myself what is really going on. Interesting how beating myself up seems to be the less painful option than facing actual sadness.

Like this blog?

You can follow via email (on the right side of the screen if you are viewing on a desktop, or closer to the bottom (after the comments) if you are mobile.

You can also follow me on Facebook.