The Pushmi-pullyu Of Perfection - Sweating, Sweets, And Tummy Tucks

The Pushmi-Pullyu of Perfection - Sweating, Sweets, and Tummy Tucks

IT WAS A WARM afternoon in May; I was fourteen years old. Mammaw, who had carefully sewn my junior high graduation dress, gazed over my shoulder as we studied my reflection in the mirror. The tailor-made “gown” of polyester fell to my ankles—my first long dress (with matching shoes). Amazed at the girl looking back at me, I remember telling Mammaw, “I look so pretty.” This must have come as a revelation to me, as I had always been a heavy child. But puberty had turned my metabolism around, and for the first time, I was pleased with the girl in the mirror. But I’m embarrassed to share with you that this was the first and the last time I can remember thinking such flattering thoughts about my physical appearance.

Sometime in my early twenties, my self-critique of my appearance moved from observant to painfully critical. I became obsessed with my weight and every calorie I consumed. I wouldn’t have defined myself as anorexic because anorexics never do. But I spent as much time and energy keeping my weight at ninety-seven pounds as I did almost anything else. The pushmi-pullyu of perfection had me on the run, and to be honest, I’m not sure, even today, who’s chasing whom. You too?

Why can’t we be pleased—even better, be thrilled—with our healthy bodies and faces kissed with the engaging stories of character and experience? Why is it we’re always striving to look younger and be thinner? Why don’t we invest the same thought and energy into becoming smarter and kinder? I think our pushmi-pullyus of perfection have us cornered.

Several months ago, the beast of perfection returned and began driving me to increase my workouts. The mach-seven metabolism that I have enjoyed throughout my life is finally beginning to slow. Hormones and age are beginning to have their way with me. (A side note for my cousins: you can stop that laughing right now—I can hear you.) More and more outfits in my closet seem not to make it into my wardrobe rotation, if you know what I mean. To maintain my muscle tone, I’m now lifting ten-pound dumbbells. The beast has me on the run, literally.

You must not have any other god but me. You must not make for yourself an idol of any kind or an image of anything in the heavens or on the earth or in the sea. You must not bow down to them or worship them, for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God who will not tolerate your affection for any other gods. (Exodus 20:3-5)

What about you? Are you spending too much time thinking about your weight, diet, or wrinkles? Has your physical appearance become your idol?