Bailey, the three-legged papillion who was my welcome wagon and first friend in town.

As part of my self-exploration and trying to get to know myself again, I have been thinking about beauty.  I have had a mixed journey with that attribute and have been trying to figure out why it is so celebrated and why I am so obsessed with it. I don't judge others on their looks. I know the difference between surface and the real person. But I expect to be judged on my looks and found lacking. (Not fishing for compliments on my face, so please don't go there.)

Science would have us believe that symmetry of features signifies a better mate potential. Certainly, enough studies have been done on it. I did a search for 'beauty mate' on PubMed.com and got 62 responses. Quite the variety there.

But when beauty is your focus, what are you looking for? What is your goal? Are you looking for a life partner? Are you looking for a "score"?  Are you looking for a trophy, what you think you "deserve"? And how many lives will you wreck in your quest?

I have a strange relationship with physical beauty. I look at pictures of myself from my youth, of which I have none to post, and I see a pretty good looking kid. I was a dork, though. I was really smart and I fell in love with books as soon as I learned how to read, which, believe it or not, I was afraid to learn how to do. I don't remember how Mrs. Yeoman got me past it, I just remember being sent back to my desk the first time I was put into a group to learn, then the next thing I remember is reading. Strange gap there.

But I dove into books head first and was reading 5th grade literature books half way through first grade. Brains weren't celebrated in my family, though, so my parents never made an effort to advance me in school. Also, I ended up going to five different grade schools so I didn't stay anywhere long enough to learn that advancing was an option. So, I was perpetually the new kid, caught onto lessons before the teacher taught them, and read like a fiend. Also, my mother dressed us to hide our looks. Perfect storm for dork-dom.

So, no boyfriends and maybe two dates all through high school. Lost my junior high boyfriend because I wouldn't sleep with him. Then I went to college.

Two years of playing catch up on everything I missed in high school. Suddenly, I was "HOT." All of my prior experience came from reading trashy romance novels so I thought that sex automatically led to marriage. And I liked touching and being touched, something else that had been lacking, so I took to it with a gusto. Classes naturally suffered but I was smart enough to pass them, barely, without much work involved. I made some bad choices but did learn two important things. First, never mess with married men. They aren't worth the time involved. Second, I was not the type of woman that men wanted to help. Sleep with? Yes. Spend time with? No.

Then I was yanked to Texas. Dallas- Ft. Worth. Totally against my will, but I didn't see where I had a choice. Stay in Indiana on my own, no job, no prospects for success, and paying out of state tuition or move to Texas and have a roof over my head. (Even though I had grown up in Indiana, since the parents moved to Texas and I was under 25, they took my residency with them. I didn't know enough to know how to fight it. And no one to help.)

Once again, the new kid. I started a new college but this one was a commuter college. No dorms so no way to connect. I was a transfer so the Greeks weren't interested in me. And I failed two classes my first semester there. First time in my life. Culture shocks all over the place. I made a few friends but none with staying power. I was in full blown rebellion and that tends to grate on serious people. To skip a few chapters, I eventually dropped out of school and joined the Air Force. Made a few more bad choices. Missed out on a great guy named Joe because he saw me dating someone else before he had a chance to ask me out, but he just turned and ran away so did I really miss out or did he chicken out? Long time ago; moot point now.

On to England. My first Christmas there, I hooked up with "him." Handsome, exciting, gorgeous, good in bed. I spent the next year + convincing, or trying to, anyway,  him that I was good enough for him. He was a bodybulder, though not a steroid user, so he looked really fit rather than massive. He was also a control freak, and had a definite idea of how I should look. He convinced me to lift and I really liked it. We would work out together and he really encouraged me to do well. By the time I was done I could squat my bodyweight. Here's what I looked like...

Would you believe that I thought I was fat? I could never reach his idea of perfection, so I didn't see this person for who she was. I was 25 years old. This was after the rape and I was pretty committed to that guy (by this time I had control issues and needed to win him for my own reasons) so I didn't encourage guys, but the only ones interested only wanted sex, anyway. None of them except one guy from Indiana wanted to be my friend. The people I knew in England dropped me flat when we got back to the States. (I had a pretty decent body image before that guy, BTW.) I also sort of feel that my looks got me raped. His friends used to make comments, which he would tell me and use to control me ( jealous, he was). Certainly, all my looks ever got me was laid.

Looking back, I can see personality issues. My childhood was not spent learning how to be a productive member of society and all I had to base my decisions on was my family. I won't go into detail, but they really weren't the role models a young girl needed to be successful in life.

Today, I need to lose weight to get healthy.  And I am afraid. My efforts at fitness all those years ago were geared towards attaining the perfect body type that he demanded. I know firsthand how guys use attractive girls. And I am still working on those personality issues. In a lot of ways, I have never grown up and I have never gotten any more experience to know what real guys are like. I got stuck.

So, reality check- I am not 25 anymore. This I know. Do I want to be attractive and noticed? Yes. Do I want to be noticed, really? No. Not like I used to be. I want, now, to be healthy and fit so that I can run and play. I want someone to play with. I want someone who will appreciate my health and the effort I make to maintain it, not just how I look in a sundress. Our culture, though, from my experience, grades on physical attractiveness.

So, how do I reprogram my brain? How do I not over-react to someone commenting on my looks? (And that could easily be over-grateful that they noticed, not just pissed because they noticed.) How do I graciously say thank you? How do I quit obsessing on my looks? How do I grow up? A lot to work on.