One summer, I went to a wellness retreat outside Oxford, dedicated to cleansing and fasting. One afternoon, while I was basking in the sun, a striking young woman with the poise of a runway model was lounging on the sunbed nearby. We struck up a conversation about why we were there.
I need to lose just under a pound, she said. I chuckled, expecting her to be joking. She wasnt.
Ive been living like this for a year, feeling fat. My boyfriend said hed leave me if I didnt slim down… See? She pinched the tiny amount of skin on her stomach. Im embarrassed to even sit down in a swimsuit.
I couldnt get our conversation out of my head for days and ended up thinking of her as Lisa, less than a pound. According to her boyfriends standards, someone like me would be tossed off a cliff, unfit for the perfect world of Sparta where only the slim are worthy and anyone else need not apply.
Recently, I found myself at a large gathering in a London restaurant, celebrating a friends promotion. One elegantly groomed woman sat confidently, legs crossed, tights gleaming, shoe dangling from her toes, sipping sparkling water from a wine glass. She drew admiring glances from all the men.
Then her husband arrived. He greeted the other men warmly, but hissed at her through gritted teeth, Cover yourself up! Stop flaunting your thighs…! She straightened, blushing as she ordered a shawl from the waitress, even though she was sat by the fireplace, then spent the rest of the night withdrawn and silent.
I once tried reading the biographies of famous English writers, searching for the secrets of their genius in their life choices. But soon I gave up. Its difficult to reconcile the reality of a deeply flawed human being with their masterpieces.
I stopped especially after reading about Charles Dickens. I adore *Great Expectations*, but learning about some parts of Dickens personal life was more than I could bear. When his wife Catherines health deteriorated after multiple pregnanciesadvised by doctors not to have more childrenDickens said, Well, what use is she to me then? In the end, Catherine bore him ten children.
Scrolling through Instagram nowadays, I see its populated by pristine Barbie-like English girls. Their daily routines revolve around fitness classes, spray tans, spa treatments, and elaborate beauty regimens. They sculpt their bodies to perfection, and the beauty industry eagerly profits from their quest. Theyve become professional beautiesits hard work, and its expensive. I respect hard work in any field, but I fear weve lost our way. These girls strive for beauty hoping theyll be loved, picked out of a crowd.
Someone told them, This is what beauty looks likeslim figure, arched brows, plump lips, a perfect derriere, and off they go, fitting themselves to suit that ideal. Meanwhile, the lads struggle to see the unique spark that makes someone stand out among endless identical faces.
Not long ago, my husband and I visited a garden market on the outskirts of Cambridge. While he picked out tools for the allotment, I wandered among stalls displaying garden ornaments: lanterns, watering cans, windmills, rabbits and foxes. I watched two men deliberating which colourful garden gnome they should buy. One lifted different gnomes, inspecting them from all angles. The other snorted with laughter, Come on, mate, make your mind upyesterday you were choosing from the escorts with the same look on your face.
It was hilarious.
Ladies, my dear Lisa under a pound, Nora with the shawl, Catherine Ten Children… How can you not cherish, value, or respect yourself? How could you ever mistake someone treating you as damaged goods for love? Who told you that a flawless body or face is a requirement for happiness?
I have a hundred real examples proving looks have nothing to do with love. One of my friends met her husband in hospital, while both were in the renal ward. He fell for her in a hospital gown, pale as a sheet, with a massive catheter poking out from under her nightdress. What about Frida Kahlo? Ever seen her? Those eyebrows? Yet warriors and artists alike adored her.
Years ago, I had a bad wisdom tooth removal. The dentist botched the job, ripped my cheekI was left with a fever, a torn gum, puffy cheek. I lay at home, spitting blood, weak as a kitten. My husband tenderly fed me yoghurt since nothing else would go down. With my milk moustache, I peered in the mirror and whispered in horror, Oh my…, then burst into tears.
But he smiled and said, You are the most beautiful woman in the worldyou hear me? The most beautiful! Even now. Will you marry me? Please? Later on, once I recovered, there was a ring, a restaurant, balloons on the ceiling, flowers, and my I will. But the real proposal, the one I cherish most, was when I looked my worst. That was real. Because beauty isnt about appearance, and love isnt about perfection.
Our imperfections make us human, unique. Thats what makes our loved ones love us. Perfection doesnt exist. Or rather, everyones definition of perfect is different.
I decided recently to get braces; my teeth really are a bit crooked. My husband only said, I adore your smileI dont see why youd want braces unless you want them. If it were up to me, Id leave things just as they are.
After our first son, I weighed over 18 stone, yet my husband showered me with praise, giving me no motivation to lose weight. I slimmed down when I felt ready. Looking back at photos of me with our tiny boy, sprawled on the sofa, I asked, Why didnt you ever tell me to lose weight? I was huge!
He replied, You looked scrumptiouslose weight if you want, but I loved you as you were.
And five years ago, when I had a major psoriasis flare-up, I refused to undress at the Brighton beach. My husband asked, Whats wrong? and I realised he truly didnt notice my skin at allhe saw only me.
This isnt advertising my husbandits about relationships. If the person youre with demands you fit their standards of beauty, that’s not loveits control. Youre a bright apple, and all he sees are the bruises? Thats not a man who wants an appleits someone hungry for power.
You have every right to follow him out of fear of losing him, but think about it: What exactly are you afraid to lose? A tyrant who treats you like a garden gnome in a fly agaric hat?
Any man wants to be in charge. But authority should come not from your fearbut from your admiration and respect. Your trust should be a choice, not an obligation. Choose someone you want to follow, because he is confident, strong, reliable, and kind. Let him take your hand and promise to walk with you to the ends of the earthand trust him, because you chose wisely.
And remember: Truly leading someone by the hand requires earning that right, every single day. Thats the real measure of loves worth.
