A Tale of the Mall and Other Monsters

I've been thinking for most of the week about my "status symbol" --or the thing we want people to know about us, instantly, by our clothes, when they see us.

For me, truly and honestly, it would have to be "strength." Even though it's rather unbiblical of me (remember, it's the meek who inherit...), I have always coveted the image of being capable, independent, and strong. If you go back and read my post here, you see that what I exulted in was my body's strength and power. Then, I just made the physical reality reflect the newly discovered truth and new found attitude.

But it kills me to admit this, to you, to myself, to anyone; but, I am not strong. My feet and back problems have made me into such a mess that my daughter exclaims with surprise when I run and jump over a puddle, or hustle in out of the rain. "Mommy, you're running!" she shouts at the top of her lungs. "I've never seen you run before." And although uttered with all the hyperbolic certainty of a seven year old, still, it is true.

And that truth hurts more than I can say.

I need people too. I haven't had any close friends in years--only in the last three or four has it begun to bother me. The thing is, at this time of life, it's kind of difficult to find them.

I went shopping, today. Alone. I went to Sears to track down those winter coats. I didn't find them. The coat section was absolutely crammed and I needed help. I had to find a salesperson. She helped me as minimally as possible. I guess I had been rather abrupt with her, 'cause when she found me the size I'd been searching for, she said to me, "Are you happy now?" All the while nattering on about how I'd missed the sale this morning when every coat was 50% off until 2pm. (And of course, I was there at 4:30.)

I settled on a coat (a different one), and wandered into another section looking for a turtleneck. Tried one on. Marched into the Land's End section practically hobbling. Not a salesperson in sight. I settled on a few things to try on and tried to ignore the prices. In the end, I just couldn't. I left two sweaters and a button down blouse on another rack and hobbled out. (Usually I return items back where I take them from, but I could barely walk at this point. And I was still carrying the new coat).

So, I bought the coat (probably the only coat in the whole store NOT on sale), came home, modeled it for my husband and he says, "It's not as elegant as the ones you looked at on-line."

So, I got it wrong. It'll go back tomorrow. But that's not the point of this story. (sorry). The point of the story was that the coat (with tax) cost $180.17.

It was too much. Not that anyone but myself says so, you understand. But I was and am absolutely riddled with guilt and remorse that I spent so much money on myself. I told my husband there was no way I could spend that much...really, it was OK, my coat with the burned hole is OK. It fits, it keeps me warm...I don't need a new coat. He scoffed. Told me it was hideous. Really, I suppose the trip back to the store tomorrow is to have my husband bolster my self-esteem and self-image. Maybe we'll find something "more elegant," maybe we won't. But his approval of the coat will mean he approves of the way I look.

So, in light of all that, Wende brought me to tears with this:

part of owning our own style is surely being thankful for our bodies in their incredibly varied sizes, shapes, and proportions. The important thing is not to meet someone else's criteria for beauty or style -- the important thing is to be good at being ourselves.

I can't do it.