Perspective

Natalie Albergo

CW: Body Image

As I stared into the mirror, my cold, cracked fingers traced my ribs One, two, three ribs visible Always If not, then the shame spiral would intensify Suddenly, my sister and mother came out of the bathroom stalls; I dropped my brown sweater over my stomach I must have forgotten I was in a public restroom in New York, not my bedroom, alone

Our first activity of our day trip was exploring midtown Manhattan - sightseeing and passing endless shops and stores. I did not go in them or use them as a way to get a few brief seconds of warmth and refuge from the frozen air. Instead, I used the glass windows as mirrors, verifying that my appearance was socially acceptable. I didn’t think it was.

We laboriously walked up 5th Avenue, our feet icy and sore, until we reached 82nd Street, and came upon the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Frankly, I didn’t care about the rest of that trip. I was sick of all the commercial stuff. What I really wanted to see was The Met, filled to the brim with history, art, and culture so worldly and mesmerizing it would take my breath away.

I desperately wanted to see all the ancient art and artifacts. Egyptian, Greek, Roman, all of it. I’ve always been fascinated by ancient civilizations and history since I was a little girl - young, innocent, carefree attitude towards my body. This museum was a dream come true for the young girl in me who dreamed of learning of these places, and for the current me, fascinated in history and hungry to consume any sliver of information I could.

"Instead, I used the glass windows as mirrors, verifying that my appearance was socially acceptable. I didn’t think it was. "

After entering the museum, we decided to see the Greco-Roman exhibit. While strolling through the vast grand lobby, I pulled up my sweatpants, so they fell down my slim stomach and would rest on the bony flesh of my hips. Such a comforting, satisfying sensation - a useless habit, but a compulsive reassurance. Eventually, we made our way across the main lobby and entered the Greco-Roman exhibit, filled with intricate and magnificent artifacts - pots, vases, medallions, shoes. Walking around and observing these things, I wondered what I looked like to others. Did my sweater make me look bigger than usual? What about my thighs? Was my face too round and ugly?

But then came the real magnificence - sculpture. Specifically, ancient men and women, made of marble and limestone, exposing their whole body to me and the millions before who had seen them. Staring up at one particular woman, her beauty unnerving, I observed her body. Soft and somewhat curvy, she didn’t have three ribs that I could count. But she was still gorgeous, and possessed an elusive quality that made me stare in awe.

Several other strangers were admiring the statues. Staring into that ancient woman’s eyes, I had a realization. Nobody cared and or was critical of her body. No sane person would stare up at this grandiose sculpture, a capsule of culture, and think “Oh she doesn’t have a flat stomach,” “She’s not that pretty,”. Instead, they all admired her natural, realistic beauty, her body curving in towering mountains and deep valleys. Looking up to her, my eyes glazed over. I was frozen with the admiration and wonder she had invoked in me. Then suddenly, I epiphanized that I was actively appreciating the areas of her body that I had previously denounced on myself as imperfect.

Despite my marveling at the statues, a seed of doubt remained in me, gnawing on my thoughts. “You’re still not good enough,” taunted that nagging gremlin in my brain, “You’re still not skinny enough.” But this time, my response changed. The power and strength of those statues had given me a rock-solid defense to my self-deprecation. “You are good enough,” I countered, “There is no such thing as ‘skinny enough’, don’t feel that you have to change your body to be satisfied. Your body is just here to exist. Appreciate all of its intricacies unashamedly.”

Unchanged and admired. That will be my body. Like those statues, it will simply just be. Looking timeless, unable to care what people think because she is just stone. My body may not be stone, but my mindset will be. My acceptance of myself will be hard to crack and harder to collapse. No outside influences will plague my mind and distort my idea of what my body should look like.

There was no social media to pressure people into believing their bodies were imperfect and wrong in 400 B.C. There were no unattainable and impractical beauty standards drilled in their heads by media and advertising. There was no nonsense and junk infiltrating their minds through cell phones, which had rotted my self-confidence and body image.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon strolling around the museum. The exhibits were filled with renowned artwork made by highly distinguished artists - Degas’ Little Dancer, Monet’s water lilies, a Van Gogh self portrait. But none of those amassed the impact that the ancient bodies did. All day, I couldn’t get them out of my head.

Walking out of the museum that evening, wind whipping against my round red cheeks, I felt myself relax. I had gained perspective.