I turn sideways to get a good look in the mirror. It’s an involuntary reaction, the way I grab my tummy and try to pull it tighter.
I hate it.
That’s when I think about what I’m thinking. I pull on my favourite pants, the ones that always make me feel proud of my legs.
My reflection stares back, unimpressed.
Maybe it’s being in her house for two days, the 48-hour reminder that I’ll never look the same as her.
Yet, when another friend fiddles with her chopsticks over a platter of sushi and says that body image is maybe one of the biggest struggles women face, I want to say no.
I don’t struggle with that.
The next day, I catch my disapproving look in the mirror. It’s so common, I never even noticed it before.
“The thing I’ve realized,” she says, “is that you never actually get where you want to be with your body.” We used to exercise together.
I always think my inner monologue will change once I look a certain way.
And yet, when I first met her, I awkwardly stared. I thought she might be a model. Later, she told me she struggled with body image.
Because body image is not based on the reflection, but the reflector in the mirror.
That’s in my heart as I scroll through their Instagram selfies, discontentment growing.
Take every thought captive.
Or the unbelief that my image was defined from the beginning of time–cellulite or not.
In the image of God, He created them.
Or the forgetfulness that skin particles become dust particles, but the soul lives in the end. Faith lives in the end. Contentment lives in the end. Joy lives in the end. Love lives in the end.
It’s a Friday when I look in the mirror and decide to make a change.
A permanent diet, of sorts.
A restricted consumption of discontented thoughts.
“Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.” 1 Corinthians 6:19-20