Gone Daddy Gone

My daughter asked the other night if I was happy with my weight. I'm not today, I said, but I was a couple of days ago. "No, I said your WEIGHT." I'm guessing she clarified because my answer didn't make any sense to her -- how could I not be happy with something today that I was happy about two days ago, especially something as unlikely to change that quickly as weight? Good question! I explained to her that it had more to do with how I feel about life in general than it does about my actual body weight, and I hadn't had a good day.

Yesiree, this is yet another example of the fact that I am motivated to be a happier, more consistently ok-with-myself person for my daughter's sake. I want to teach her that these fluctuations are normal, but they indicate, more than anything else, a separation from one's spirit. They're feelings, and feelings aren't facts.

These icky feelings can be brought about in all kinds of ways, including old trauma resurfacing. I can tell when this happens, because it's not just a disliking of my visage in that moment based on fleeting things like hair or clothing (or even an extra pound here or there), it's an all out rejection of the reflection. A rejection of myself, or a part of myself, based on the misunderstanding that getting away from that trauma -- otherwise known as healing -- is about getting rid of it.

Over the last few years, through my healing process, I've learned that it is actually the opposite. Healing is all about bringing it in, getting to know it, accepting that the part of you that went through something ugly is part of you in exactly the same way as the parts that have been witness to the beautiful things in life.

Through a lot of hard work, I've come to understand that the undesirableness I see in the mirror in moments like that is an invitation to work toward greater integration and wholeness -- not by rejecting that part of me -- but by loving it extra. I wish I'd known more of this when I was struggling mightily with these concepts as a young girl and young woman.

Pondering all this, my inner jukebox called up an old fave with something to say about beauty:

Beautiful girl, lovely dress
High school smiles, oh yes
Beautiful girl, lovely dress
Where she is now, I can only guess

'Cause it's gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone away

When I see you
Eyes will turn blue
When I see you
Thousand eyes turnin' blue

'Cause it's gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone
Yes, gone daddy, gone
The love is gone away

Tell by the way that you switch and walk
I can see by the way that you baby talk
I can know by the way that you treat your man
I can love you baby till it's a cryin'

What exactly it's saying, I don't really know. But I can tell you that what I thought it was saying -- what was so satisfying about this song during my teenage and twentysomething angst -- is that love is dependent on beauty.

It's not. My fortysomething self is here to say that it's quite the opposite -- beauty is dependent on love.

I know my daughter will have to find her own way through this maze that can be particularly challenging for American girls, but I'll be here to help, willing to share what I've learned, and more often than not, happy with the reflection looking back at me in the mirror...