No One Cares How Skinny Your Arms Are
The one about wasting your own time, and obsessing over your body.
Some weeks, I feel like there’s a message that the universe is trying to send me. Over and over again, I’ll see or hear what seems to be the same theme — some reminder or lesson that keeps reappearing throughout my days in various ways. Sometimes tiny, sometimes highway billboard-sized. This week, it’s been the sense of wasting time on things that aren’t important, or, instead, pouring my attention onto things that won’t bring me value — things that aren’t worth my energy or heart. It kind of reminds me of that quote that wherever our minds go, our energy follows. What you give your attention to, is what ultimately grows — what you end up breathing more life into.
Most frequently, wasting time, for me, looks like diving into an endless scroll on social media… I imagine it as being a ride on one of those really long, twisty water park-type slides, that seems endless and then dunks you straight into the deep end of a pool. Eventually you look up, slightly disoriented and unsure how much time has passed, wondering how the heck you got there. Me being the type A Virgo stereotype that I am, then gets upset, or disappointed — with myself. Thinking I could have used that time better. Should have used that time better. That, ultimately, I should be better.
I’ve found myself doing the endless scroll when I should be going to bed, or could be using that time to work toward the goals I have for myself. Time, I frequently complain to myself, is finite. Something we never have enough of, in more ways than one. A limited and non-renewing resource in this life.
Beyond (and before) social media, my time has been wasted in other ways. At various points of my life, I’ve lost moments, minutes, years to wishing my body looked different. Wondering if I could make it smaller, or taller, or closer to “perfect” — like what I saw in magazines. Some flavor of becoming a better version, again. Despite always being in a body that’s considered thin, I’d wonder: could I make my stomach flatter? Could I fit into a smaller size? Were my arms too big? My chest too small?
I feel lucky that this comes in much, much less frequent waves than it once did, say 10 years ago, but as recently as this week I found myself caught up thinking about — worrying about — how I looked in a recently snapped photo, and had to shake myself out of it. Did my face look weird? Did I seem like I’d gained weight? And so what if I did or had? I shook the worries from my brain — we don’t do that anymore, remember? — and then I happened to see actress Lili Reinhart’s recent Instagram story posts this week (during a mindless Instagram scroll, no less); I screenshot them because they felt so radically honest. Perhaps with a younger version of me who I wish I’d previously had more compassion for, but nevertheless.
I’ve written about my experience with disordered eating before, and who knows — perhaps there was a dash of body dysmorphia in there too when I was in college. Nothing that was enough, thank goodness, to be dangerous or have long-lasting effects, but enough to steal moments of my time. Obsession with “improving” my body, or its external “flaws,” has taken away energy that could have been poured into joy and love and pleasure.
While I’ve done a lot of work to ensure the majority of my time is no longer consumed with fixating on how my body looks or what the number on a scale says (in fact, I never look at a scale anymore — I even tell the nurse at doctor’s appointments that I don’t want to know the number), there are moments every now and then where thoughts about my external appearance creep in and steal my attention. Steal my time. Where I find myself focused on the way my arms look, or some other detail that probably no one else but me notices. Something that is so minor and perhaps vain, but strikes me because it feels dissimilar to what we see most celebrated on social media or on TV. Something that speaks not at all to my worth or my value or my character. And then I briefly get lost in trying to “fix” it, or awash in the discomfort that comes with feeling uncomfortable in your own body.
How many of us have wasted too much time staring at our arms, or our thighs or our hair or *insert any body part?*
We can’t make every single second count, realistically, but… we could try? We could attempt to fill our days with thoughts and actions that lift us up or help remind us we’re loved and we’re strong and we’re doing our best, rather than doing things that, well, have the opposite effect.
In that case, maybe your time could be used much more effectively. I know mine could.
+++++++++
Happy, happy weekend, friends! This is an aside, but as for Lili’s posts, they particularly struck me because I don’t think we get that type of honesty and vulnerability on social media, or in the world, enough, period. More so, we see young influencers (basically children — in their very early 20s or younger) who have an 18-step skincare and makeup routine for just… going to class or the grocery store, or equally young celebrities who seem to have gotten breast implants. To each their own, you know, but it breaks my heart a little bit.
Anyways, I hope you have a wonderful weekend. If you’re looking for something funny to watch, I watched “Theater Camp” last night and it was great. Kind of a mix between “Pitch Perfect” and “The Office,” sorta? If you need something lovely in your ears, my fav Noah Kahan just released a new version of his song “Call Your Mom,” a duet with Lizzie McAlpine; I can’t recommend it enough.
Thanks for reading,
Joelle
Beautiful thoughts that are beautifully written!