Archetypes in the Mirror
I recently was going through pictures of me to update my website in, and found myself… processing. It is really jarring for me to now look back at images of me during my higher weight period.
When in the midst of my gender transition (and later my time being very ill), I hit about 235lbs. Maybe a bit more. Unsure. My asthma was bad enough that I couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without stopping at one point.It seems that it is not uncommon for transguys with big chests to put on weight. We can strap our tits down, hide the masses into the blending of being, well, big dudes. After my chest surgery was botched (yeah… even thinking about that can hurt, mixed in with the inspirational lessons learned and acquired), I ended up with dude-boobs… something else to hide with my weight. Add in depression, not working out, hiding in my cave, and in general putting food in my face to consume the pain… it got intense.It’s funny – I like big guys. I love the shape of bears, the beauty of curvy chicas. It’s not regularly who I end up partnering with, but I adore the aesthetic. But I was also attached to being that aesthetic.Getting off of certain medications, getting moving, making healthier food choices (including going mostly vegetarian), the weight has been slowly coming off over the past year. It started before that, but it has been more over the last year. I’m down to 180 when dressed, 175 when not. I can climb 2 stories of stairs with a roller bag and computer bag and be fine. I can walk a mile, or two, without concern (as long as the shoes are comfortable). And as long as my underwear are on, I feel good in front of a mirror. It’s a fascinating transition.
This is not a post about losing weight though. I am not looking for “atta boys” or “go you” or some sort of belief that being thinner is healthier or happier. I know people who are 300lbs and pretty damn fit, flexible, and healthy.What is amazing to me in this process is the meaning of body to me. That I look in the mirror and seem to be so much more in alignment with the guy I want to be.A year or two in my medical transition (remember, getting on hormones et al is only one part of transition, a choice not all trans folk choose or can do), I realized that I was clinging to the story of what a guy should be. I was watching men with a female history around me take on archetypes of the abusive asshole, the alcoholic, the jock, the uber-nerd – archetypes that did not always serve them.I compared this to the inner archetypes of body I was seeing in myself. I was becoming my father. Round-bellied, diabetic, side-comb, loud snorty laugh. That I held a story that I would become round-bellied, diabetic. That I would have a heart attack, double-bypass. That unconsciously I said, just as I was to become my mother as a woman, that I would become my father as a man.Crafting a new image of manhood and image in my mind was hard. To embrace a vision, we must envision. And my mind had challenges picturing who would be, well, me. What my skin would take on.Our skin hears our stories. Our unconscious stories. It dances out our inner truths.
This is *not* to say that it is our fault if we are unhealthy. This is just a piece of the puzzle, just as saying that if we want to be wealthy and can picture ourselves being healthy, we will become wealthy. That if we want to be safe, and can picture ourselves being safe, that only happy things will happen and that we will not have horrid things happen in our lives. That is blaming, that is shaming, and that is crappy.But, being adult can mean holding multiple truths and emotions in our mind at once.
So I started painting a picture in my head of being an aerialist on silks, Cirque du Soleil style. I flew. And – I am on the way. Step at a time.Picturing it started a few years ago.But now I look in the mirror, and I am starting to see that self-chosen archetype on my skin. The body modification coming into play. Body modification is not just tattoos and and brandings, split tongues and stretched necks. It is liposuction and breast augmentation, weight loss and weight gain. It is bulging muscles and push-up bras, lipstick and dreadlocks. It is our bodies, crafted. It is the stories we tell, to ourselves and others, through our skin.Our skin speaks of culture and history. We wear our war wounds received through combat with others and ourselves – badges of pain and honor alike. I hold up my scars and say to the world that I went through this, and came out the other side.Our tanned skin tells a story of work in the fields or sweating in tanning beds. Our clothing speaks of hipster culture, or sleeping on the streets. The same look, different stories, expressed under context and the smallest details.I am choosing my coming body mods. Stories of new chapters, stories of conscious paths being taken. Stories in hair, and ink, and slim-cut jeans. I look at the details of culture, and consider where my vision in the mirror is received in the mirrors of our world. I become the stories I see, the stories you see. The fun-house mirror of the archetypes we each see.We don’t always like what we see in the mirror – even if no one else cares. We sometimes adore what we see in the mirror – even if others tell a story.
When we speak words, they leave our lips, enter the ears of another, and they process what we thought we said through their own filter. The problem with communication is that we think it is happening.When we wear our skin, it leaves our body, enters the eyes of another, and they process what we thought we knew and filter it through their own stories and experience. They do not see what we see in the mirror. They see their own story. We see our own story.Stories can mean different things to different people. Is “The Giving Tree” a story of beauty, giving and love? Is it a story of sacrifice? Is it a story of greed? Is it a story of co-dependency taken too far? Is it about hope and being true to ourselves, coming back time and time again to what we find meaningful?I look in the mirror. I look into my stories.I look into the archetypes of my skin, one page at a time.