Woo-hoo!

I just looked at my grades for the semester, and I'm astounded at how well it all turned out. I was fairly convinced I would be beginning my graduate career with a black spot (or two or three) on my transcript, which I would have blamed on taking eight classes for thirteen credit hours (where full-time for a graduate student is 9-12 hours). Miraculously, though, it all worked out . . . and I just like to look at the list of grades, because it's so pretty . . .

I feel like UNT in general likes me much more than BYU ever did. Maybe it has to do with the fact that my dad's a professor here (in fact, I'm sure that's a big part of it), but I definitely feel that whereas BYU largely ignored me in every way for four years of my life, UNT is paying attention, and that alone makes me want to do better.

Tonight I went to see some belly dancers--this girl from orchestra takes belly dancing lessons, and her group was performing. I found it fascinating. There was one group there who called themselves "Just Fabulous" that I found particularly intriguing. The were three ladies who were larger, but made no apologies for it. Rather, they capitalized on their bodies, celebrating them in all their glory. As I watched these three women, so brimming with life, I became so envious of their complete self-confidence. It would take a lot to get me EITHER wearing a midriff-baring costume (really little more than a bra) OR dancing in front of people, so I am astonished that they were able to do both, and to do so with complete lack of inhibition. It's as if they were saying: "Yeah, we're fat. But we're also sexy. Take that." Someday, maybe I'll reach that level of self-acceptance.

I generally shy away from discussing matters of body image, because they happen to be a sensitive issue for me, but in the name of ownership, I'm putting it out there: I've had body image issues ever since elementary school. I remember feeling self-conscious when we'd balance on the seesaw and the scale would tip to my side. The funny thing about it is that when I was that age, I wasn't at all fat. In middle school, I also thought I was grossly overweight, which was probably due mostly to the fact that most of my closest friends were tiny. I've never been predisposed to slenderness per se, so being around people who were made me feel like a cow. The point is that for me, being uncomfortable in my own skin is as normal to me as breathing. I'm certain I could name fifty things I don't like about my body without flinching.

The problem has always been my tendency to compare myself with others. In my case, the commandment "thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's ass" could be taken literally. Why am I buying into the idea that there is one standard of beauty to be upheld? I may not look like a Victoria's Secret model, but that's just one interpretation of what "beautiful" looks like. I sincerely hope for a day when I look at myself without immediately honing in on what's wrong and give myself permission to accept the beauty that is there.