Just one?! But, as someone with AVPD, there are so many! I could easily make this into a Top 10 post, and have indeed written out such lists before, so I know from experience that that would just get depressing. So, I’ll try to keep this one concise and relevant.
As a Catholic, my answer should be: if I could change one thing about myself, it would be my sinful nature, my tendency to try and please myself rather than God. And that would indeed be a good answer.
But if I am being honest, which, isn’t that what this stupid blog is for?: there are probably other things that I’d be more excited to change about myself.
I’d like to change my economic status, obviously. The number in my bank account. Wouldn’t we all? That’s a big one. But even this is probably not the number one thing I’d like to change about myself, in like a magic genie type scenario.
As a sober alcoholic, I’d kinda love to magically gain the ability to drink in moderation. Even more than sudden financial wealth, this idea appeals to me. Because in some ways, drinking was a really cool and fun thing, and I think it’d be cool to have this superpower: to be able to drink socially. To go wine tasting at the scenic vineyards with some friends. To do a toast on holidays. To be able to have a glass or two to unwind, without it turning into a daily habit and a life-altering obsession. It’s funny: this all sounds very nice in theory, in a very vague, distant, hypothetical way, like the concept of being able to fly or read minds; but, again, to be perfectly honest: I have zero desire to actually drink in moderation. What’s even the point, lol? With my brain, it would be unsatisfying, and just leave me wanting more. So, I would probably not choose this, either.
What if I could just get rid of the AVPD? This might be the thing I’d change about myself. To have the ability to connect to others and relate to them and befriend them like a normal person. I’d be sorely tempted to choose this. And if I were younger, still in my teens or twenties, this is surely what I would choose.
But, honestly… maybe not that important to me, anymore. I’m lucky that I managed to get married and have a family and build a good life even with the AVPD. Sure it’d be a lot easier without this handicap, but, I dunno, I guess I’m used to it by now. As you know if you’ve read my little autobiographical bit about AVPD, my life is actually pretty pleasant and manageable most of the time, these days. It’s only really maybe once or twice a week that I painfully feel my AVPD symptoms; its little day-to-day manifestations are not too bad to live with, not anymore.
So I don’t think I’d choose that either.
Sometimes I think I’d like to change my whole personality, to make myself less of an INTJ and more of like an ISFP or something. I’d like to be more of a sensor type rather than an intuitive: perhaps tidier, more crafty, a better cook, a better dresser, more grounded in reality overall. And I’d like to be more of a “feeler” and less of a “thinker;” to be warmer, more feminine, and more approachable. All of these would be great assets in my life as a wife and mom.
But, personality type isn’t the number one thing I’d change about myself, either.
So what is? Would I make myself smarter? You all know I have a ton of emotional baggage about the whole “intelligence” thing, lol. Would I make myself a better writer? A publishable writer!? Or eliminate my inconvenient fear or bees and wasps? Would I exchange my awful, scraggly type 3 curls for a full head of thick, shiny straight hair? Erase all of my ugly tattoos, perhaps? Or, make myself like classical and highbrow indie music instead of the shitty stuff that I like to listen to? Of all the many things I hate about myself, which one would I actually change, given the chance?
The answer is pretty anticlimactic. The answer is: legs. I would like to have nice-looking legs.
“But Mith,” you might be exclaiming, “just lose weight and exercise and get some sun!” If only it were that simple. See, I’m actually a perfectly normal size right now, with a BMI that’s perfectly average. I have, in the past, been an underweight exercise addict and have been diagnosed with anorexia and bulimia, but even when I was extremely skinny, it was like my legs didn’t get the memo. They stayed thick and solid. Even as a bony little twig I had the legs of a much heavier person. Shapeless, sturdy, pasty “Irish” legs, with no definition whatsoever to the calf. Sometimes I’ve wondered if I have a medical condition, but no; I kinda wish I did, so that I could get treatment. But unfortunately I don’t have any pain or any other symptoms; just hideous legs.
(And as for “just get some sun”: sure, I could, I guess, but that would require going out in shorts or less, which I will not; and besides, my pale skin would not tan, it would just burn, then peel off to reveal a slightly darker shade of pale. I know this from experience. So, lightly-roasted bratwursts instead of raw ones from the fridge. Whoop-dee-do.)
I’m not sure what this says about me, that of all the many things I hate about myself, many of them with good reason, the one that bothers me the most is my legs. Why does it even matter that much, since I can (and do) simply cover up with maxi skirts and/or tall boots? I’m Catholic, so would try to dress modestly anyway, even if I had nice legs. And my husband, i.e. the only person whose opinion of my attractiveness matters, claims that he isn’t bothered by the legs (although I think he’s just being nice, for some reason; haven’t yet figured out his ulterior motives). And, as I mentioned, the legs don’t hurt or anything. They function perfectly well. Probably better than average, in fact! Best believe I’ve never twisted or sprained, let alone broken, an ankle. I’m way too sturdy for that.
So why is this so important to me? And what does it say about me that it is so important?
Probably you could draw out of all this some statement about the insidious toxicity of beauty standards, the cruel pervasiveness of diet culture in modern America. For me, a pretty average white millennial female, being perceived as thin and attractive is evidently more important than happiness, financial security, intelligence, or even my religion (!?). What is wrong with the society that formed me? Or is it just a natural, human thing, this senseless desire to be desirable? Who knows.
Probably it has something to do with the fact that I’ve hated my legs for longer than I’ve cared about money or religion, long before I hated my personality or started to show real symptoms of a personality disorder. My first clear memory of hating my legs was in first grade, so approximately age six or seven. I was on the school bus one morning sitting next to my friend (who was, perhaps interestingly, a boy), and for no reason this friend was telling me how disgustingly wide were the thighs of this other girl in our class. Her thighs were “this big,” he said, with abject horror, holding his hands up a certain distance apart; and I, true to form, chuckled in mild agreement while looking at that distance and then down at my own lap and realizing that my thighs were that exact same width, if not wider. The next memory is associated with a certain photo taken of me in the third grade, and it continues.
However, I already knew, before age seven, that my legs were weird and bad. I’m not sure why. No one ever told me so, not that I can remember. I guess it just came from comparing myself to other girls in my classes. Already in kindergarten you become aware that skinny = desirable, smaller = better. This hatred of fat is probably, nay, surely, so deeply ingrained in my psyche that I will never be free of it. And I’m not special. I daresay it’s the same for almost all of us.
Which is kind of dumb, isn’t it? It seems like sturdy legs are actually a very practical thing to have, from like a survival/evolutionary standpoint.
But that’s the thing. Skinny little delicate legs make you more vulnerable, more in need of protection and care. Make you easier to pick up and throw around. That’s what men like. The older I get, and the more I learn about how straight men actually feel about women and the way their brains work (just naturally, it’s not their fault; however, some men learn to master it, and others apparently do not), the more grossed out I am by the male gaze. But so anyway this is what we women want to appeal to. We want to appear like we need care and protection and someone to be the boss of us. All of which just points to the larger truth that we humans all are vulnerable and weak and need someone (i.e. God) to be the boss of us and take care of us.
So yeah, there’s a reason why skinniness is attractive. A very beautiful reason. Beauty is beauty because it reminds us of Truth. I get that. Maybe that’s why I so deeply loathe appearing so sturdy and stolid. It feels like a lie, a blatant contradiction to one of the most essential truths about me, about anyone. Or something. Or maybe it’s just that my legs look like bratwursts, and that is objectively freaking gross.
MiTHology (4.0) 