I got the assignment from my Gestalt Therapist to stand naked in front of the mirror. (Did you remember to say Gestalt with a funny accent? You must, it is part of reading my therapy posts. Say it “Gestalt.”) See how I feel if I just look at myself, my whole self, naked in front of a mirror.
While I’m not a mirror avoider (not like I have been in the past) and I’m not a naked avoider (like I have been when I’ve had roommates or been, you know, a hall director in a building with 180 men), I’m not a lounge in front of the mirror naked person. So a few minutes here, a few minutes there, I looked at myself in the mirror.
I realized that while I’m not a naked mirror avoider, when I am naked and in front of the mirror–I study parts. Can I see that bump on my back, the one I felt in the shower? What is my butt doing? Look at those veins, wierd. Ooh, I almost forgot I had that tatoo. Parts, but never the whole.
Guess what? It’s not so bad. Granted, I’m not Selma Hayek or a centerfold, but I’m not grotesque. Not that naked women of any shape are grotesque, but I didn’t feel repulsed or shocked or divorced from the woman in the mirror. Yep, that’s me. The jiggles are mine. The droops are mine. The wrists and ankles are mine. The legs are mine. The shoulders. The hair. That hair, too. All mine. The blisters on my heels. The scars on my knees. The odd bumps and dips. Mine. Mine. Mine.
All in all, it’s not so bad.