Eyebrows

My mother, drunk that she was, hated my eyebrows.  She compared them to labor leader John L. Lewis.  Well, they are not that bushy but they are, shall we say, intense.  She spent a lifetime trying to make a "LADY" out of me and failed miserably.  I had to constantly pluck my eyebrows to shape them and them put a finger under each brow and push up to make the eyebrows more arched.  When she died I immediately stopped plucking.  My eyebrows are now au natural.  One of my co-worker, who has since passed, loved my eyebrows and made me feel good about myself.

The eyebrow issue was part of her drunken idealization of the feminine.  She was, at one point, a beautiful woman who modeled clothing at a local dress shop.  But the drinking took its toll on her beauty.  So she tried to make me more like her and the more she pushed the more I rebelled.  She used to take me clothes shopping and let me pick out what I wanted and when we got home she would pronounce "I don't know why you got that.  It looks horrible on you".   So I grew up very confused about my feminine wiles.

When she died at 59 in 1994 I did stop paying attention to the inner critical voice she mastered over me.  The eyebrows went first.  Shoes became a central facet of my life.  She was always on me for my choice of shoes and when I was freed from her voice I bought shoes up the wazoo.  I have since slowed down.  But she has her revenge from the grave as I constantly get blisters on my feet now.  I am working on the premise that she has her claws on my feet.  I have this recurring dream that when I die and there might be an afterlife and I will see her again and she will say "So, why haven't you called?"  Therapy is dealing with that.

Because of my mother I like to think I am the epitome of androgyny.  I get most of my clothing from LL Bean and shoes from Amazon.  Undergarments direct from Hanes, including new special socks that wick away moisture and I am hoping it helps with the blister issue.

I am certain there is a psychological component to the blister issue.  My feet not only take me on a journey they have their own journey.  This is the first time in over a week that I haven't had at least one Bandaid on my tootsies.  Those new socks are marvelous and I change them at least once a day.  Hopefully I can keep them blister free for a while as the callouses from the blisters are forming and maybe that will make me stronger.  What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, so to speak.

My self image is getting better.  That is not to say I don't beat myself up on the issue of body image.  I weigh in once a week and if it is up a pound or two I panic,  I restrict my lifestyle until the weight is back in control and control is the name of the game.  I have two Fit Bits..  I compete relentlessly with my financial guy.  I worried when I went back to work after a week off that I wouldn't be able to beat his pace, as I had when I was staycationing.

So this is my problem.  Self image.  And eyebrows.  That inner voice of my mother haunts me.  My dad not so much.  He was more of a let it slide type of person.  You are what you is.  He never said a word to me about wardrobe choices other than to support my mother and when she died that went out the window.  Must..think...more...like.  him!

You know, it's strange.  I worry about my self image but I am perfectly fine as I am.  On my walking route there is a chalk graffito that says "You are more than enough and then some".  That strikes me as a phrase to live by.  Or as Sophie is wont to say  "It is what it is". And it is.  I am more than enough, more than enough...lather, rinse, repeat.

And now we resume a less self centered idealization.