Are you looking at or seeing yourself ?
One will lift you
I wonder is it a particular issue of modern times that we spend an inordinate amount of energy tying to be seen, heard, liked and validated by those round us, yet invest so little effort trying to see and hear ourselves?
It makes sense in one way; exclusion from the tribe meant certain isolation and death. But a certain amount of introspection and reflection - navel gazing notwithstanding - is what helps us become rounded and boundaried people who thrive, not just survive.
For women living in this modern age of anti-ageing propaganda, flawless perfection pressure, and endless narratives on who and how we should be, the friction of wanting to be seen for who we are and all that we do for those around us, against the fear of being seen and judged by the super-radicalised standards we’re meant to adhere to, is exhausting.
I feel it as a 55 year old divorced woman trying to make her way in a world that until very recently, would have dismissed my category as irrelevant. My daughter’s boyfriend recently told me I’d have been hung as a witch during the Salem witch trials. Although he absolutely meant it as a compliment to my fierce fight for women (and myself) to be able to be themselves, I felt the slap that along with the term witch comes the association of old hag.
This is me! Champion for women thriving in midlife and beyond and still….slapped about by the sorcery of patriarchal posturing about women’s bodies, relevance, and acceptability. It’s so easy to still feel it.
So when I feel slapped about, I have to remember to use the slaps as a wake up, not a cow down.
There is a difference in looking at yourself and seeing yourself. Looking at yourself is an external judgement - and given the bullshit we have had to endure about our bodies - this is often a critical judgement.
Seeing yourself is recognising the woman inside, acknowledging she is there amid the deluge of demands, and reaching out to her to say “I’ve got you! Let’s live like we give less fucks and dance to our own tune.”
The first kind - looking at yourself - is a torturous torment we adopt early on. I developed boobs and hips amid the Kate Moss era, so always felt “too” much. Imagine if I’d developed my adult relationship with my body when Marilyn Monroe was the body du jour? I had the ultimate indignity yesterday of taking my teen girls shopping and ended up under the furious fluorescent lights of a changing room with one of them. Slim versus saggy. Lithe versus bountiful. Primed with potential versus weighted with weariness.
Of course when I was the teen and young woman, and my mum was bemoaning her menopause belly, did I appreciate my body? Of course not. I just compared it to those around me and we will always find ourselves wanting.
We women look at ourselves all the time… and see worn out, ageing, worried women looking back. I have stood in front of my mirror recently, and inwardly wailed at the whaling wobble of my menopausal belly. My vanity (based on a pressurised perfection that is fed by the machine of social media and unfathomably toned red carpet celebs) swamped my valiant attempts to be rational. I’m a menopausal, single mother of three children having had three c-sections, with a busy life of work, caring for parents with a creative life and I look pretty good, all things considered. But no. It’s easier to see to weary than the valiant. The wobble over the fit and healthy behind it.
When I look at myself, I have stood in front of the mirror ashamed of myself and then ashamed of myself for being ashamed of myself..… the layers of guilt and the mind fuckery from ageing in an age of anti ageing propaganda, and of women’s bodies being the diktat of men’s gaze and I want to lie down and eat a bag of Doritos and drink a bottle of dry rose wine in the sun and read a book and be me with my cats playing beside me and flowers dancing in my periphery, while my girls sing in the kitchen and stay there forever, never to face the outside world again.
But instead I lift up my chin, and take a deep breath and remind myself my body has served, and serves, me in so many ways and carries around this brain that torments and rewards me, and I cover up the shame with glow cream and Charlotte Tilbury highlighter and I walk into the day like a warrior woman armed with blue war paint but I know it’s only blue eyeliner and am really trembling on the inside but I slap a smile on my face and move forward anyway because what else can I do? I pluck a hair from my chin and carry on.
But when I see myself, I see a woman who is going to weights classes, has great skin, eats 14lb of chia seeds a day because that’s what every third Instagram post tells me to do, has just had her hair coloured and cut, still has a great cleavage and looks brighter in blue.
When I see myself I know the effort I make, and the hurdles I’ve overcome, the love I have given and the ambitions I have.
When I see myself, my inner witch cackles, I nod to myself and say, “Let’s do this day as the warrior woman you are lovely. It will not break you.”
Women are constantly living as if we are asking for forgiveness for existing. There is nothing to forgive, but there is much to forget.
Forget the old narratives that women’s only value comes in how we look and what we do for others.
Forget the mind fuckery and forge ahead with a redefined sense of self.
Forget the farce that ageing is a shameful act of guilt, but is actually a fucking resistance that we must all embrace powerfully.
So how do you hear and see yourself?
See and reflect on what you are proud of, and really go deep and long in this: from the headliners to the small everyday acts of kindness. With my coaching clients I do an exercise that involves a bit of this and they always become taller. You’re so busy asking for forgiveness, you forget how amazing you are.
Really see what you are happy about. I can look at the endless DIY and upkeep jobs in this house that will always need doing, but I can also see what an amazing home I have created out of a broken marriage. The frayed carpets do not define my worth. A warm and welcoming home does, and I see it.
See what you really need. This is the crux of seeing and hearing yourself. I need a break. I really do. And I know when I feel unseen and unheard in a busy house of teens, when my ex is out there living his best life while I do all the girl’s laundry, I really need to actually hear and see myself. No-one is coming to save me and no-one else can sign my permission slip to put boundaries in place, to ask for what I want, to take what I need and to feel relevant to myself first and foremost.
Listen out for what is really your core and what is just conditioning telling you what you should do.
Listen to the real yes to yourself rather than the should yes.
Listen to the guilt-free no rather than the no to claiming your time first.
We all need external validation to survive, but we need to see and hear ourselves internally to thrive.
As always, I want to make this available for everyone to read so for my paid subscribers (thank you, thank you, thank you - your help keeps this newsletter going, because it takes time and energy each week) I will send you a little worksheet to help you start seeing and hearing yourself better. Just email me at alana@alanakirk.com and when you’ve done it, you can send it back and I’ll give you some feedback (feel free to ask questions or ask for specific support in an area) to try to move you forward. I’ll do this each week now for paid subscribers.
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