I have lost my Waist

I have lost my waist. It has been slowly disappearing through menopause, the pull of gravity on a 62 year old body, and the fact I am no longer a workout junkie.

It has been replaced by a soft buddha belly that sits overtop low waisted pants and becomes a jelly roll when I bend over. I am not sure I like it.

I do like the softness and roundness of it.  I do find myself touching it, cupping  my hands over it and that feels comforting somehow.  However, it is annoying when I do up my pants.  I don’t like my sideways profile in a mirror where I am convinced by belly and my butt are the same size. Oh yes, the butt has been disappearing too, flattening over time.

I reflect on 19th century paintings by Rubens with voluptuous women, with curves and rolls.  They are so beautiful.  They come from the artists brush but are inspired by the beauty he sees.

I compare them to social media images of today, filtered women with flawless skin, flat stomachs, and perfect perky bums.  Curated images of what they want the world to see. Not a reflection of authenticity but a suit of armour, that does not allow you to get inside. Living in a world of created reality behind the laptop or smart phone screen.

Of course, the artist is curating and creating as well, so does that make it more real? I guess the question is what is reality?  How can you tell? Does it really matter as we float around in our human forms, our meat suit, with a divine being inside.

I compare the painting to the curated social media image.

The painting is a depiction of the female form of the time, and the feeling of the painter. It is from the lens of the artist painting what he sees and showing the beauty.  It feels real. It feels warm and flowing.

The filtered social media image is contrived to make it fit into what society says is beautiful. It doesn’t feel real. It feels cold and stagnant.

It comes down really to how it makes you feel.  It is not about what is real or not.

The painting makes me feel uplifted and beautiful. The image invokes feelings of self-loathing and failure.

I regard my round belly from a different lens.

My time on the planet has built this. It holds eating too many potato chips and not working out enough.  It also holds the scar of a hysterectomy many years ago.  The scar cuts my belly vertically, dividing my belly into 2 parts.  The scar reminds me of that surgery that saved my life. The surgery that lead us to adopting our boys that changed our lives.

There is beauty in the belly and the story it tells.  

It holds its own reality.

My relationship with it is still conflicted but I choose to love it and be kind to myself.  

 I will simply wear bigger pants