Jenny Sanders explores the changes that come with ageing and the challenge of finding peace with a body that no longer fits youthful expectations.
‘He has made everything beautiful in it’s time’ (Ecclesiastes 3:11).
“…48…49…50!” Phew! No matter how many stomach crunches or I do, steps I walk or salads I eat, my ‘mummy pouch’ seems immoveable – a permanent feature I could well live without.
I distinctly remember the days when I could waltz into a changing room with an armful of size 10 garments, try them on and then agonise over which one might come home with me, funded by a student grant which was boosted by some frugal eating habits involving cabbage and sardines.
My, my, how times and bodies change!
READ MORE: Why your body size matters to God
This has been amplified (pun intended), in my mind as our son prepares to get married this summer to his beautiful Zulu/Xhosa fiancée, cementing the family UK/South African alliance of over thirty years. It’s exciting and wonderful, requires us to get to Durban but also, more importantly, select a suitable outfit for the occasion. ‘Simple,’ I hear you say, ‘pop along to a fancy shop, indulge yourself in a bit of trying on, breathe deeply, present your plastic and… result!’
If only it were that simple.
The uncomfortable truth is that I am not 18 any more and neither am I a size 10. I suspect that’s true for a lot of you too. The scales are not telling me a story I want to hear; photographs bear testimony to the fact that my body has been busy with its own agenda.
Biology books and medical practitioners know that our bodies change over time.
Biology books and medical practitioners know that our bodies change over time. Forgiving dungarees can’t alter that. Muscle mass, bone density and fat distribution inevitably change as we age. I navigated the big 6-0 last Autumn, and have to agree.
READ MORE: While body positivity is important, clinical obesity is a disease – is weight-loss medication a healthy solution?
Attempts to defy the ravages of time and circumstance through diet and exercise have bought only a modicum of success. Gok Wan, (who now refers to himself as an ‘image consultant’) waxes eloquent about the beauty of women of all shapes and sizes but I’ve yet to meet a woman over the age of 30 who enjoys standing naked in front of a mirror. We are, as ever, our own worst critics.
I’m wrestling with the stark reality of progressing to a size x (you don’t need to know), while remembering that in the 1980s, size 14 was average for all British women. Now, apparently, we average a size 16 . That means, either: a) we’re eating more and moving less b) retailers have changed their size charts or c) the stress of modern life has flooded us collectively with cortisol, now lodging stubbornly around women’s midriffs.
My body has actually served me well for 60 years; I need to focus on gratitude not criticism.
My body has actually served me well for 60 years; I need to focus on gratitude not criticism. I’ve gone through four pregnancies, four births, umpteen house moves, a car accident, breast cancer, radiotherapy, frequent long distance travel, a lot of stress-related cortisol, menopause, multiple bereavements and two broken ankles. Back in those heady graduate days I was clueless; my life experience was extremely limited; I didn’t appreciate how time and life events change us on the outside as well as on the inside. And I was 18-21.
READ MORE: Debunking the myth of the “summer body”
Now, I’m in a season where I’ve reviewed my eating and exercise again. But diets, and self-imposed limitations can take up so much head space it’s easy to become obsessed. Yes, I have a responsibility to look after my body, but God is still more interested what’s inside me. If I focus on my outward appearance I’m probably not focusing on Jesus. Anything that takes my gaze off him must be discarded.
Paul told Timothy that ‘physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come’ (1 Timothy 4:8). I can protest loudly that, ‘Round is a shape!’ and bemoan that mummy pouch that refuses to leave, but God doesn’t give me a weigh-in every time I come to him, shaking his head and tutting that I’m not the girl I was. I’m not supposed to be!
However, I am a woman who’s called to keep pressing in to him, walk in step with him, enjoy him and the good gifts he has given. Including wedding feasts.
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