{via pinterest; originally here}

This post is one that has been brewing in mind for a while. After I watched Brene Brown’s recent TED talk on approaching shame, I was settled on writing it. And then I read Gala Darling’s amazing post on whether she’s a radical self-love hypocrite for wearing five-inch heels.

What both of these inspiring women talk about is the concept of privilege. Brown claims that we cannot talk about race relations in this country without talking about shame, the link being the acknowledgement of white privilege. I whole-heartedly agree. To really address race, we have to address privilege, and we have to address shame.

Gala Darling points outs the fact that just as those of us who are white are granted certain privileges in our society, so are those of us who are attractive, or who ascribe to the norms laid out like inalienable laws in our culture.

Think about it. I’m sure that you’ve had the experience of being decked out in a pretty dress, high heels, and a face full of make-up, and been treated oh so slightly better than when you showed up in your hoodie and flannel shorts. One example that I can think of is running into a grocery store to pick something up before a party and being asked by several different staff if they could help me find what I was looking for. Wow, I thought, what service! Unfortunately, I didn’t have the same experience when I walked in a week later after a sweaty run and no shower. Granted, the first time it could have been my hurried expression and the second time my smell to blame, but I’d put money on the beauty privilege idea.

This type of treatment isn’t relegated to grocery stores, unfortunately. Watching The Voice recently, my husband and I were commenting that the judges seem to place a value on physical attractiveness in selecting the winner of the “battle-round” (when two contestants face off in a singing duel). This is particularly ironic because the show is based around the idea that one should be advanced and selected based on the quality of their performance. In fact, it’s what makes the show so engaging is that individuals with non-stereotyped body sizes, physical appearances, or styles, are actually given a chance to shine. In the beginning, it eliminates beauty privilege. But as soon as the judges can use visual information to help them make a decision, we start to see the insidious pull of attraction. Just think of Susan Boyle’s rise to fame.

It’s not just the judges that are engaging in this. Just wait until the live shows when the American public can vote. I feel quite certain we’ll see more beauty bias at play. And to be honest, there’s good, biologically speaking, reason for this.

Back in the 1970’s, some social psychology researchers identified the “what is beautiful is good” bias. What they and subsequent researchers found was that attractive people are assumed to be better employees, smarter, happier, and have more positive personality traits. These same biases operate for lower versus higher weight individuals as well.

What’s interesting is that, while these ideas are not necessarily founded, when they are true it could also be due the cycle of privilege. When someone is born attractive, they are treated differently from the get-go. They are regarded well by peers and possibly interact more frequently, thereby developing more charisma and confidence. They are favored by teachers and might end up enjoying school more for this reason, so suddenly they are excelling in their courses.

The point is, the idea of beauty privilege is complex, and the solution is unfortunately complex as well. It’s not as easy as just stopping giving pretty people all the good stuff. Our evolution-driven wiring to seek out what is attractive is not going anywhere. So what we are left with is the task of recognizing and talking about the idea of beauty privilege.

Just as with any form of privilege, we hold back from discussing it because it can bring about shame. But we know that approaching shame and sitting with it in all its discomfort is part of the work of becoming more authentic and happier human beings. If we want to live in a world where our politicians are the best people to run the government, our singers are actually talented, and our children don’t feel they have to wear make-up in pre-school, then we have to acknowledge and start dialoguing about what is hard to talk about.

How have you seen beauty privilege? 

{image credit :: joseph b}

If you’ve ever been to therapy, you might have observed a sense of awkwardness or anxiety when the end of the session neared, as you stumbled through your mental catalog of decorum to decide the appropriate way to leave the encounter. You might have realized quickly as you walk out the door that Emily Post does not have a chapter on this. Or maybe you just said “Peace out, homegirl,” and were on your way (like more than a few of my adolescent patients have done).

As a psychologist, I’ve found that some patients want to have some kind of physical contact at the end of a session. They’ve spent an hour pouring their most raw vulnerabilities out on the table, and that momentary contact – a handshake, or a pat on the arm – feels vital to restoring the sense of balance. I get that.

The therapy relationship is, well, weird. It’s one in which healing happens because the therapist and patient are not buddies. The patient doesn’t have to fear that the therapist’s “stuff” will come up in the room. (That’s why they pay us the “big bucks” – to go get our own therapy!) It’s a safe space where one can focus on what brought them to treatment, and to do so completely openly. So it’s somewhere between a stranger and a close friend. Hmmm… See why I said “weird”?

So with this person who is neither a stranger, nor a friend, how does one show compassion and connection? Some therapists prefer to use verbal or non-touching non-verbals to express these feelings. Things like warm smiles, putting one’s hands over one’s heart, or even opening the door for a patient can demonstrate care on the part of the therapist.

But other therapists are recognizing that touch can be a really powerful and effective intervention. We know, first of all, that touch is one of the most basic, and most important, forms of sensory experience. Scientists even say that touch is the first sense to develop and the last to fade. We know too just how crucial early touch in human development. Children who do not have physical contact early on often at higher risk for physical, emotional, and behavioral problems. One study even shows a link between touch deprivation and violent behavior.

So when someone has been deprived of this physical contact, or deprived of the emotional connection inherent in touch, restoring that as part of the therapeutic relationship can sometimes be important. Of course, this is really serious and delicate work, not unlike those magicians who build a ship in a bottle. Caution and precision are key, and knowing how to effectively use touch to provide healthy soothing is something that takes much time to develop. For example, if you’ve been the victim of trauma, you may be incredibly sensitive to – and upset by – someone making contact with your physical self.

Implicit too in the therapist’s decision to touch a patient, and in the patient’s decision of inviting or accepting that touch, are all kinds of cultural ideas as well. Some cultures welcome touch as a form of communication, while others are far more reserved when it comes to all things tactile. Even the meaning of touch is created only by the cultural context. Given this, therapists need to weigh how touch might be perceived by their patients and the meanings that are being communicated.

So, I’m curious about your thoughts on touch in therapy. Have you ever had a therapist who used touch in any way? What do you imagine that you would prefer? If you do work with people, do you find yourself using touch?

{credit K; via pinterest}

In the introduction to a several-page spread in a popular women’s magazine recently, the creative director “confesses” that he hates his arms, and how much he can relate to the body-hatred experienced by his female counterparts. While I’m always happy to see men acknowledging honestly their body image concerns, his confession was the introduction to an article on how to solve “dressing dilemmas.”

What to do when your panty hose run three minutes after walking out the door (when you’re running ten minutes late)? How to find trendy heels that won’t cause bunions? How to stop that turtleneck from itching so badly that you rip it off and hurl it across the room… at work?

These are some of the  “dilemmas” that I face, and would have been legitimately interested in learning how to “solve.” But this particular article had other issues in mind – to use their descriptions, turkey neck, spare tires, front butt, pit chub, bat wings, frump butt, and thunder thighs.

If that hasn’t sent you spinning into post-traumatic flashbacks of high school bullying, it’s probably because we’ve been so desensitized to such offensive and deprecating phrases. I was floored that these terms were used to describe any part of the female body. But I guess in the society in which we live, I shouldn’t have been.

A quick glance in the grocery line reveals all sorts of clever little phrases for women’s bodies – chub rub, side boobs, and the list goes on. What’s so frustrating about this, however, is not so much the phraseology, but the fact that the names are intricately tied to an expectation that women have flaws that need to be somehow rectified.

When did our bat wings become a problem? When someone decided it was profitable for them to be a problem. 

Bear with me here, because I realize this might sound like a foreign language.

We are not born with flaws, and we do not die with flaws. Our bodies are exactly how they are meant to be at each moment in time. There is nothing inherently wrong with our bodies. And do you know how I know that? Because they are the way they are, and that is reality.

So we long to be taller, or have bigger breasts, or smaller feet… But what we know, the only thing we know, is that this is we are the person we are supposed to be, inhabiting the body we are supposed to inhabit. Whatever explanation makes sense to you – genetics, God, destiny, a combo of all of them – the fact remains that we are who we are, with all of our uniquenesses in tow. And if that is who we are, it is who we are meant to be.

With that said, it seems that we have it all wrong when it comes to our approach to our “dressing dilemmas.” What if the clothes with which we adorn our bodies are not meant to cover “sins” or hide belly fat, but rather are meant as an expression of our creative self? What if the clothes were an extension of how we see the world? Or, if you don’t want to go that far, a way of simply keeping us comfortable in inclement weather? What if, for once, they weren’t a means of hiding these, apparently, un-namable body issues?

What if it’s the clothes that are wrong? What if it’s the corporation selling the clothes? What if it’s the magazine that advertising the quick fixes to our body blemishes? What if it’s our government for allowing manipulation and sexualization of our physical selves. What if it’s anyone or anything at all rather than our body to blame? What then?

That’s a lot of questions. They’re not meant to be answered. They’re meant to be felt. Sit with them and notice what comes up.

How do you feel? What if your body isn’t wrong?

{credit prettystuff; via pinterest}

I used to wear glasses, and when I did you could frequently find me running frantically around my house, late for work as usual, as I searched for them. If you were looking in the window during this charade, you would undoubtedly laugh, as I would estimate at least forty percent of the time they were on my face or folded on to my shirt. To me, this demonstrates just how disconnected I was from my own body. I could have glasses resting on my skin, making my vision clearer, and have no awareness in the moment of what was, literally, right in front of me.

Thanks to LASIK and mindfulness practice, I am much more connected to myself these days and don’t lose any glasses. I know that I’m haven’t been alone in this disconnection, however. Every day I see individuals who are utterly unaware of their bodies unique signals, and I see how this unawareness wrecks havoc on their ability to properly care for themselves.

When it comes to feeding ourselves, our bodies have an absolutely incredible system for keeping us healthy. Many of us believe that if we really listen to our bodies, it will tell us to eat Hostess cupcakes all day long and send us spiraling into a state of obesity. In fact, our bodies just don’t work like that. That belief itself is worth exploring, and is often tied to messages that we’ve gotten throughout our lives about how bodies just can’t be trusted. We’re told this by our parents growing up (“You can’t be hungry yet – you just ate!”), by our friends (“Watch out or your Twinkee addiction is going to catch up to you.”) and by the diet industry (“Trick your body into losing weight!”), and even by the government and food industry, (“Follow these food pyramid guidelines, not your hunger! Don’t worry that they are the result of dairy and beef industry’s advice to the USDA.”).

What we often fail to hear through all the white noise is the sound of our Inner Nutritionist, despite the fact that he or she is wailing to get our attention. Our Inner Nutritionist is comprised of all of the internal wisdom that resides in our amazing bodies. It’s built on millions of years of collective evolution and decades of your own personal experience. To put it frankly, it knows what it’s doing – a heck of a lot better than your Aunt Sally, Slim-Fast, or the USDA.

Our Inner Nutritionist tells us things like when we are hungry and when we are full. The Inner Nutritionist even has cool hormones at his or her disposal that can make certain foods more or less appealing.  Linda Bacon talks about the restrained eater, the subject of many studies, in her book, Health at Every Size. The restrained eater is someone who has kicked their Inner Nutritionist to the curb, and instead responds to external cues to determine their eating. The restrained eater responds to things like the amount of food available, peer behavior, and their emotions to determine how much and what they eat. While these things can influence all of us to some degree, those with a tight relationship with their Inner Nutritionist are able to observe and acknowledge these factors and return to their own sense of what’s right for their body in the moment.

Utilizing this resource can take a lot of practice, particularly for someone who has long ago fired the Inner Nutritionist. Bringing it back happens when we can practice mindful eating and develop a more balanced relationship with our bodies. An Inner Nutritionist packs his or her bags when her boss doesn’t believe she exists, ignores her, or, worse, berates her.  Just for today, practice being curious as to where your own Inner Nutritionist might be.

Do you believe you can trust your body for your food choices?