The Results: My Month Without Women’s Magazines

At the beginning of the month, I decided to go Women’s Magazine Detox. Here are the results:

Day 5: I cheated a little bit. More magazine had a piece called “How To Command a Room” and I figured that had more to do with empowerment and sharing my best self rather than thinking I wasn’t good enough, so I read it, skimming past the anti-aging creams and best new spring outfits.

Day 6: While at BJs, I snuck a peek at some haircuts. With my renewed focus on myself, a new haircut fits the bill. Cheating? Hhmmm. Yes. Forgiveness? Yes, too.

Day 11: Getting better at passing by those glossies now.

Headline: The UNDiet: Eat like a normal person and still lose weight.

My Response: Who says I need to lose weight?

Headline: Your Body’s Dream Suit Is Inside

My Response: You can go swimming in a sweat suit??

Headline: Kristen Stewart’s Beauty Rules to live by.

My Response: Does it involve a perpetual sneer?

Day 22: I’m redefining the rules so that I can read personal essays, books, personal finance, and food and while skimming by any article that smacks of improvement, makeup and dressing for my body type. There’s not a lot to read.

Day 27: Homestretch! Work and my personal life have been challenging this week, and typically, when I feel this way, I “treat” myself to a manicure, a new lipstick, or a new book. But when I walked by the nail salon, I thought to myself, “Perfect nails won’t make me feel better,” and I kept walking. When I strolled into Macy’s on my lunch break, didn’t even glance at glittering tubes of lipsticks and glosses, “Who am I trying to look good for?” I asked myself. Even the New in Paperback table didn’t tempt me. “I have a shelves of books at home that I haven’t read.” At long last, I am recognizing these storms of insecurity and discomfort and letting them pass.

Here are some of my new treats:

  • a cup of chai
  • meditating
  • yoga
  • not checking email on my day off
  • going to the gym
  • writing in my journal
  • Cadbury mini dark chocolate eggs

 Summing It Up

O Magazine, Real Simple, Allure, and Redbook continue to arrive in my mailbox, but their glossy pages of “50 Great Drug Store Buys!”, “How to Dress Your Shape,” and “The Best Foods That You Are Not Eating,” have lost their allure. While these articles and magazines take on the voice of a helpful friend, I realize now that they all have the same message: You’d be [insert adjective here: prettier, slimmer, smarter, healthier, more efficient] if you bought [insert product they are trying to sell.]

Advertisements

Turning 40

okeeffe_skyabovecloudsDaily Prompt: Frame of Mind | If you could paint your current mood onto a canvas, what would that painting look like? What would it depict?

If I were to capture my current mood on a canvas, I’d create a black and white photograph of woman’s figure from behind. She’s standing on the edge of a promontory, arms crossed, her long, dark hair fluttering straight behind her in a breeze. The sun simmers beneath the clouds (think: O’Keffe’s “Sky Above the Clouds“), pinking their edges with a white glow. Below I imagine the sound of the ocean shushing and roaring below.

I am turning 40 this Friday. 40! When I was younger, I expected 40 to be a grown-up dinner party with tiny, carved vegetables and locally sourced meat on a large, white plate. The conversation and the wine would sparkle. I’d have my career figured out (writer). Maybe I’d be married, but definitely no kids because kids are expensive, loud, and demanding. Plus, given my tumultuous childhood, I would have no idea how to raise them.

Well, I am NOT at that grown-up dinner party. My dinner party, which starts at 5:30 sharp, serves orange-made-from-powder-macaroni and cheese, chocolate soy milk, and chicken nuggets. Our New Yorker subscription has lapsed, and Netflix suggests that I watch “Handy Manny” and “My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic” since I watched “Curious George.”

I don’t need that hip, intellectual Brooklyn life, but I don’t want to surrender to the tyranny of chicken nuggets, either. Satisfaction isn’t  a fat salary and 500+ Linked In connections, but as much as I love my children, satisfaction also isn’t being a stay-at-home parent 100% of the time.  For the better part of this year, I fretted about what I was not. I am not a prolific, published writer. I am not involved enough at my daughter’s school. I have not run a 5K. My body fat percentage is closer to chuck than sirloin.  I’ve been at my current company for 13 years, tethered by velvet handcuffs (terrific benefits, a slightly less than full time schedule) and by my own fear of leaving a comfortable, though not creatively fulfilling, position.

But I am coaxing myself toward self acceptance. This is where I am, and that’s okay. I find the more I compare who I thought I was going to be with who I am, the more miserable I feel. Resolved: I will tell myself that I am enough.

The woman in my canvas, her hair fluttering, her gaze on the emerging day, has resolved that, too.