Body Hate is a Form of Ecocide (Part 2)

And a few strategies for healing

In 2003, when I was hired to teach “whatever I wanted” within the interdisciplinary program at UW Tacoma, my first two unconventional studio art classes were called, “Eco-art” and “Body Image & Art.” In the latter class, students made art about their own journeys with their bodies. A key component of that class was drawing the model. I hired models of all sizes and identities to come and pose while they discussed their own histories with their bodies. They could ask the students questions about their histories as well. This component of the class was transformative and the drawings created were amazing.

Students also did body outlines on the first day of class, naming something they liked about their body and something they didn’t like. They took the outlines home to create a self-portrait during the ten weeks we worked together. The final piece was hung in a public atrium on campus and provoked exciting conversations for people on campus. These works of art were an outstanding record of their healing process.

A surprising domestic challenge occurred last weekend to remind me about one of the key tools for healing body hate. I discovered after returning home from “sweating our prayers” at our Sunday dance in Olympia that the surface of our bathtub had buckled and cracked. I didn’t know that this could happen to a bathtub, and I’ve been in lots of them over the years. I went online to find a bathtub refinisher, got a bunch of quotes, hired someone who came promptly today and did the job relatively quickly, but the epoxy paint needed time to cure. I still needed a shower and soak, so this gave me an excuse to go to the Korean Women’s Spa in Tacoma. I hadn’t been there in many years.

After stripping down, and easing into the hottest of their tubs, I felt an exquisite rush of relief and relaxation moving through me. Then I looked around at the spectrum of women’s bodies moving through the space. It was a beauty fest. The diversity of body sizes, shapes, ages, colors, tats, piercings, and scars, all on display. My smile grew so big as I recalled how I used to advise my Body Image and Art students to come to this Spa as a profound medicine for their body hate. The woman in the tub with me asked me if being in the hot tub was making me smile, so I told her how happy it made me to see how these women walking around unembarrassed by their nakedness or their bodies.

Finally, I need to share that a few years after my book was in print, my sweet, late husband, who adored my body in all her sizes, told me, after hearing me say nasty things about my body, that he was going to do an exposé about the author of One Size DOES NOT Fit All to let people know that my body hate was still not healed. Given that the media’s influence has not magically disappeared, it’s no surprise that one cannot easily and fully heal from its impact.

But some of my friends, traveling a similar obstacle course, give me strength. Like the wonderful poet and playwright, Magdalena Gomez, who has written gorgeous poems about enjoying the juicy dimensions of her body. I dedicated this healing deity below to her.

Now at age 70, after witnessing my husband’s physical decline during his journey with cancer, I have reached a new understanding of the body. I am relishing every bit of my body’s strength, health, and beauty knowing that I will become soil soon enough. Every new crease and wrinkle is a sign that I have lived life fully and when I dance, walk, or lift weights, I celebrate that I am still able to move with such vitality. I wish the same for you, dear readers.