Sept 1998
For years I had berated myself for not being perfect. What
I had failed to understand was how impossible this was. I did not
realize that perfection like beauty and good curry are not only in the
mind of the beholder,but the definition changes all the time.
In my naiveté I had created an ideal of perfection that I could
never hope to achieve. I judged myself by an ideal of beauty,
intelligence, and behavior that was not only extreme but also limiting
and ethnocentric. When I look back on that time in my life, a time when
I hated myself, I shudder.
I believed that beauty was a definable thing and I was
convinced that I could never achieve it. I considered beauty (in women)
to be tall, at least 5'9" because at just short of 5'8" I wasn't even
close. Perfect to me was a skinny, tone, comic book heroine's body, My
own large soft body just had to be the opposite of perfect, because it
was mine. In my mind perfection was whatever I was not.
Every time I looked in the mirror I only saw what I thought was
wrong with me. I never saw the good things about me. I judged myself by
the media's narrow standard of beauty, then spent years hating myself.
It did not matter to me that I was healthy. All I saw was my fat.
It did not matter that I was loved because I was not loved by everyone.
Now I see how silly this is, but at the time it really did hurt me.
Because I believed I was not acceptable to most of American
society, I allowed the insults and comments I heard growing up (though
thankfully not from my own family) to convince me that I did not deserve
to be happy, loved or even respected. My self-esteem was so low that,
for years, I abused myself both mentally and physically. I beat on
my body and cut myself with razors in fits of anger. I use to put my
hands though windows and even hollow core doors when I was frustrated
or hurt.
I told myself everyday how awful I was. I hated the way I
looked so much one night, that after being insulted and allowing the
opinions of a few
drunken men to affect me, I went home and seeing my reflection, slammed
my fist into the mirror. The glass cut deep into my hand, but the pain
of how I perceived myself was worse. It ate away at my self-esteem.
There were times in my life when my self concept was so
dangerously damaged that I wanted to punish myself, even die because of
how unperfect I thought I was. I could not explain to anyone how bad I
felt, so I wrote this poem.
Words Written in the Dark.
Do you know what it's like going through life
never quite looking the mirror in the eyes
because you hate what you see there
Always taking the easy way out
because its the only way you know how
Do you know what its like
looking to escape any way you can
Always seeking heaven in someone else's eyes
then putting your self through hell
cause its not what you needed
Never trusting anyone
because you think its the only way you wont get hurt
and knowing you will anyway
do you know what it's like?
I HOPE NOT
T'Rina 3/91
It has taken years for me to break the cycle of self-hatred and
abuse. The first step was to define what TV, movies, magazines and
advertisers where showing me as perfect, what I call the American Beauty
Myth.
We live in a country where there is only a very limited concept
of beauty, tall, blond, anglo-saxon, sender women. Even when a women
is a different color or of a different nationality she most often looks
like a light skined black or asian version of a white model. Look at
Naomi Campbell, who is a beautiful women and I have nothing against her,
but she looks alot like a darker version of any of a thousand other
models who fit in with the American Beauty Myth.
I then started to look around and see how few people fit that
ideal. In all of the years I have been looking, I never met a truly
PERFECT (by media standards)person. There is always at least some small
flaw, and it is that flaw that makes them human. In the past the French
would say 'Via la Differance" as a way to celebrate the
differences between us, but now due to the fashion indutry and the media,
the American Beauty Myth is spreading.
America (and more and more the world in general)has a very
homogonized concept of beauty, the things that use to make us unique and
special, now make us think we are unattractive. There was a time when a
large, soft body was a good thing, a thing to be desired and sought after.
There was also a time when a women with strong features was seen as
powerful and very erotic. (take a look at Freda Khalho)
I began to realize that the only way I could change my feelings
about myself was to redefine perfect in my own mind. I had to stop
defining it as a single look, color, size, behavior, IQ point or even
as a thing that can everbe achieved.
It has taken a lot of pain and suffering for me to realize that
it was not me that was wrong; it was the general concept of perfect.
I am far from the first person to express a negative concept about
the search for perfection. In 1804 Louis Marquis De Fontanes, a French
poet and politician, speaking in the French Senate, told the Emperor
Napoleon "Sire, the desire of perfection is the worst disease that
ever afflicted the human mind" (qtd. in Seldes 139).
Throughout history the concept of perfect has changed; what has
not changed is the human need to attempt to attain it.
The concept of perfect is an exclusionary one; it defines what
is right and what is wrong in people, and that leads to bigotry. On a
cultural level, perfection is a weapon. When we define what is and is
not beautiful; what is and is not the perfect body, voice, language,
color, size and lifestyle, we exclude people without ever meeting them.
The sad thing is that while each society has its own concept of
perfection, that concept is slowly becoming homogonized and few people
ever fit it.
That is how perfect is. If you could get it, it would not be
good enough, because it is in the eye of the beholder and that eye is
usually jaundiced.
Maybe the saddest fact is that so many people are willing to
be told by the media and society what it is they should desire. If
they are lucky some people create their own definition of ideal as they
get older. They look at what they enjoy and do not concern themselves
with what others think. Unfortunately this is rare. Most people can
never turn their backs on what society says is acceptable and just do
what makes them happy.
The norm, the average, the acceptable are all means by
which to control people. If you do not fit in to what society says is
normal, you risk ostracism. If you do something or love someone whom
society considers unacceptable, you are a freak. If you are not
interested in trying to be average, chances are you are a loser or
malcontent.
It is human nature to want to belong, to fit in. Making a
choice that separates you from the norm can be a frightening thing,
being singled out and ridiculed can be a terrifying prospect. But
it is only through standing up and taking a stand, by refusing to be
forced into a mold, that people can change the perimeters of what is
acceptable.
In her award-winning one-woman Broadway show, Whoopie Goldberg,
a well-known black comedian, played a little black girl who wears a
white shirt on her head, pretending that it is "long, flowy blond hair"
so that she can be "pretty." The character then informs the audience that,
without her long blond hair, she is just a little black girl and that
she needs the hair to be beautiful. Even though it is a proud (and in my
oppinion beautiful) African American woman on stage, you realize that, at
some point in her own life, she probably bought in to the American Beauty
Myth and judged herself as unattractive.
At some point, most people look in the mirror and realize that
there is something about them that does not fit in to the mold, something
that makes them less than perfect. When you only see your flaws, when you
believe that less than perfect is less than everyone else, you fail to see
what you are, a distinct individual.
To me perfection trying to be the best you you can be.
It is always attempting to be true to your own personal beliefs.
It is doing good in this world and not giving up.
To some people that may sound cliché, but I would rather
be a cliché of myself then a cliché of someone else.