only skin-deep

My mother just sent me this beautiful article by Laurel Rae Mathewson:

The year before I was a senior in high school, I went on an exchange to France. I got skinny. When I returned to America, I felt great, looked great, and received high praise. That post-France pinnacle of svelteness is where my troubles with food began in earnest. Any more pounds represented failure, a deviation from "my best self." I began eating emotionally. I gained 10 pounds.

At New Year's I decided to get serious about getting back to the "right" size. In good-student fashion, I read reputable books and magazines and followed all the rules. I was the ideal dieter. I ran and lifted weights. Mathematical tricks of weight-loss became second nature: The calories in an apple (small, medium, or large); which foods satisfy most for the fewest calories (pancakes are great for this). I steadily lost 1.5 pounds a week for eight weeks and was in better shape than ever. My dieting was officially healthy, nutritionally balanced, and utterly obsessive.

During winter quarter I reached the nadir of my journey with food and with God. I felt inadequate and disgusting. I desperately wanted God's help in ending this vicious cycle, but God never seemed to fully deliver. When I was stuffed, bloated, and incapacitated from a binge, I would pray, weeping: Take this from me. Help me. I don't want to be like this. I believed salvation would come from obeying the legalistic idol of strict self-control and self-improvement that I thought God endorsed. As I wrote in my journal:

God did not create me to consume my time worrying about calories. I know how sick it is ... so why don't I stop? Why do I create my own problems? ... Am I afraid of perfect happiness? … Why else would I sabotage all the gifts that I've been given, keep myself from thriving? … My thoughts disturb and distract me in lecture, in church, in conversation. … I count every calorie that goes into my mouth; yet it doesn't stop me from eating an entire package of cookie dough.

Perfect happiness. I thought it was mine for the making—and that God expected nothing less.

Food is a gift from God to be enjoyed, especially with others, creating communion and fellowship. It's not meant to be an idol. Like sex, like work, like material comfort, if we seek to satisfy the hunger of our souls with food alone, we will remain empty. I used food to cope with the spiritual void of an "estrangement" from God, created by my own conviction that I could perfect myself, given enough determination and discipline. Disordered eating was my symptom of accepting neither grace nor my need for it.

Read the rest of the article here. It's so good, I wanted to copy and paste the whole thing, but I felt like that may be slightly unethical (proper internet/blogging citation procedure is still slightly shrouded in mystery to me.) The authoress brings up beautiful points about the struggles of body image, from the unique perspective of a woman of Faith.

One of my favorite lines from her article is: "I was created for a higher purpose than a size 6." It's so true. The flesh is weak-it's easier to become a size 6 than to become a person filled with grace. And in a culture that's obsessed with externals, it's so easy to loose sight of the fact that beauty is not only skin-deep. Beauty is radiated through a smile, through loving eyes, through a kind voice and a listening ear. Not that the happiest girls are the most beautiful girls, but that the most beautiful girls are the happiest girls.

"For beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; for beautiful eyes, look for the good in others. And for poise, walk in the knowledge that you are never alone." --Audrey Hepburn

Shiny

May I have a drumroll and a fanfare, s'il vous plait?

Introducing the new and incredibly improved version of our blog, complete with brand-spanking-new title. Life (and posting) at the blog-formerly-known-as-Garden-of-Violets was lagging just a wee bit, so we decided to spruce it up, and recommit to our goal of examining and discussing the meaning of Catholic womanhood in the twenty-first century. Please bear with us as we continue to tweak and polish during the next week or two. I promise an explanation of the title will be posted shortly. *cough, cough* Desdemona *cough, cough*

Saint of the Day

Here is a charitable saint. His name is St. Thomas of Villanova. He is the saint of the day on AmericanCatholic.org. Sadly, he would be chided or ridiculed in our day as well. However, it is good to see an example of someone who was brave enough to step outside the social norms. On my campus we have started nightly Rosary walks for the conversion of campus. It is an exciting adventure(walking with 20-somethings is also alot faster than a Rosary walk at a church with all ages). Let us pray for the converstion of the world.

Starting Over

The new school year has begun, at least for me, and as we all know, the start of anything is an excuse to wipe the slate clean, conveniently forget any mistakes made last year, and work on implementing the good habits that we somehow never got around to forming the previous semester. Take Daily Mass, for instance. Indisputably a great good for the soul, yes? And yet how often did I excuse myself from that half-hour in the chapel with a list of chores and homework that absolutely-had-to-be-done-right-this-very-instant-and-couldn't-wait-even-two-seconds? The answer: waaaaay too often.

But that's okay because, like I said, it's a new semester, my very first as shiny upperclassman. After two years of college, I've made a fair amount of mistakes and poor choices (nota bene: coffee only takes you so far during finals week), and this semester I'd like to brush up my habits and straighten out my schedule, even if it's only in little ways, like getting to bed before midnight, and not wasting my entire weekend watching movies. I know my Mom's told me this a hundred times, but life, especially college life, really is way easier when you have a plan for balancing classes, exercise, spiritual life, etc., and you stick to it. Eventually, the little and not-so-little choices made every day add up into habits firmly cemented in our lives. A bag of Doritos is not a meal sufficient unto itself, and, yes, you will regret it later. Trust me. Even if it means getting up ten minutes earlier, morning prayer really sets the tone for your day, and maybe with a little heavenly perspective, getting shampoo all over your school books won't seem like quite such a tragedy. You may even recognize that it's sort of funny.

It is what it is.

Here is a video about being human. Enough said.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X4Qm9cGRub0&feature=youtu.be

This came from my past RA, a lovely woman who always strove to be authentic.

Are You Not Entertained?

Last Friday night, some friends and I went to an improv comedy show based on Grimm's fairy tales. Unfortunately, the show itself was a mixed bag. In all fairness, we had been warned. The group's website recommended an audience age of 18+. The warning was all too apt.

The actors were a group of amazingly talented, funny people, who had me shaking with barely controlled laughter for at least half the night. The other half? Spent cringing at raunchy and/or profane humor. Why oh why? These people were genuinely hilarious without falling back on the tired standbys of sex and swearing. The crudity came about equally from audience participation and cast members, and, to be honest, maybe one or two of the off-color jokes were actually funny. But everything else was just the same ol', same ol' -- people trying to shock and giggling at their daring in making naughty jokes. ::eyeroll:: Please. Every sophomore guy in the history of high school has made these kinds of jokes before. You're not actually being that clever by tossing around the f-bomb like confetti. 

There is no imagination in this kind of humor. It has neither the hilarious absurdity of screwball comedies and Jeeves & Wooster nor the sophisticated wit of Jane Austen and Oscar Wilde. It doesn't even aspire to the cleverness of innuendo, which only suggests at something not quite kosher and allows the intellect its own enjoyment at unraveling the veiled hints. 

Ultimately, raunch and swearing are deeply boring and mind-numbing. Let's face it, after the shock of the first few cracks has worn off, there are a very limited number of places you can go before you're merely repeating yourself. I noticed this in the improv performance, and it was only an hour-long show. Compared with the richness of the rest of the English language, curse-words make up an infinitesimal percentage. The same thing goes for sex or potty humor.

Listen to this trash long enough, however, and it has a corrosive effect on your brain. When you only listen to jokes about poop, well, pretty soon that's the only kind of humor you'll find amusing. Like any other attempt to raise your standards above the mediocre (or in this case, the down-right rancid and soul-smothering), it takes an effort to learn to appreciate the higher things, whether they be humor, cooking, painting, literature, science, architecture etc., etc. But do you honestly want to settle for the bare minimum? Even if it takes a heck of a lot more work to improve yourself, physically, mentally and spiritually? This kind of humor is only one of the many ways in which we fail to push ourselves toward something higher and better, looking beyond the comfortable to the truly noble and worthy.

Come on, people, we've all heard these things before. Can't we start acting like adults and stop laughing at fart jokes? Seriously. Why does humor so often descend to the level of the lowest common denominator? Is it because this is the easy humor, the old reliable jokes that have gotten laughs since preschool, or in the case of sex-related humor, junior high? Supposedly, humans ripen mentally as well as physically, reportedly reaching a half-mythic stage of existence called "maturity" where we can have "real" conversations about literature, politics, science, fashion, life after death, and any number of other serious topics that involve some sort of intelligence. Be a lady (or a gentleman) and get your mind out of the gutter and into something worthwhile.

Fashion Friday: Monday Edition

So, as the title of this post indicates this post should really come on a Friday, but I was simply too excited to keep this gem of an article to myself for that long.



Do you ever find yourself pinched by a twinge of jealousy when watching old movies with those glamorous icons of style and elegance *cough* Audrey Hepburn *cough* Grace Kelly *cough*. 'Scuse me. If you are a bloke you will be thinking I have gone a bit dodgy, but if you are a lady you will, I hope, know what I mean. They always looked so polished and elegant regardless of the role they were playing or the place they were going.


Every inch the lady, even on a motorcycle.

In this modern world we live in getting gussied up like that seems too hard and time consuming. However, popping on a one piece outfit, like this strange a wonderful thing called the dress, can be and often is just simple an outfit to shimmy into in the morning as the old reliable jeans and t-shirt. A simple dress can be adapted to nearly any occasion or season just by experimenting with a few accessories. A well matched skirt and blouse can be just as easily adapted for the office, home or special occasion.

Dressing in this way gives the wearer a polished professional look with hardly any more effort than it would take to pull on their sweats. Why should we sacrifice elegance for ease when dressing with style can be so simple?


Who ever said mom's can't look great on the go?

Vive La Revolution!
Apron Revolution - She Sews for the Whole Family

Where Have All the Good Men Gone?

After reading an excerpt from Kay Hymowitz' "Manning Up: How the Rise of Women Has Turned Men into Boys" in the Wall Street Journal, I was intrigued, placed it on hold at the library and added it to my ever-growing summer reading list. It sounded like an interesting premise, and judging from the excerpt, a pretty even-handed treatment of the topic. Did it live up to its promise? Weeeellllllll.... It's certainly one of the most interesting books I've read in a while. 

Hymowitz starts out with her definition of the "preadult", the 20-something who's half child, half adult, stranded between school and a solid career. How did we get to the preadult? Hymowitz lays out two primary factors, the Industrial and Sexual Revolutions. One changed the culture's idea of work and its purpose, creating the free-time necessary for a college degree and its resultant "knowledge economy jobs"; the other completely changed the script when it came to marriage, family and children. From this basis, Hymowitz examines how women have flourished in this new career playing field. Not surprising, since the technological advancements of the Industrial Revolution freed women from much of the domestic drudgery and the Sexual Revolution "liberated" women from children and a husband. Men on the other hand? They've retreated to their man-caves with a beer in one hand and a remote in the other. Think Knocked Up, beer pong, frat parties and Adam Sandler movies, among other things. Why?

Is it because women were the primary beneficiaries of the two Revolutions? Did second-wave feminists raise daughters to aggressively pursue degrees and careers that were once the sole province of men? Or are women just better at the knowledge-based career world that bloomed in the last half of the 20th century? Hymowitz explores all of these possibilities, as well as what the preadult phenomenon has meant for men and women in the boardroom and the bedroom. She ends her book by acknowledging that, while most women seem to still desire marriage and children, the growing bloc of "choice mothers" (those who employ sperm banks instead of the crude child-man) will probably become the norm. She ends by stating that

"men may have lost the clarity of previous eras' script for growing up, but that does not mean that the only alternative is to hang out in a playground of drinking, hooking up, playing Halo 3, and underachieving. They can still choose to keep their eyes on the things that will lead to a meaningful life." 

In other words, it's the guys' fault for not adapting and evolving to fit this new model of society where women don't really need them as husband, father or breadwinner. And yet puzzlingly enough, in the next paragraph, Hymowitz acknowledges that "with nobody expecting anything of them, men get worse." That's right, man, I don't really need you because I am woman, hear me roar. I have a satisfying career, a chic apartment, friends, everything I need. Well, actually I kinda need your sperm cause I want kids. But I don't want you cause you're gross and crude and immature. Somehow, Hymowitz fails to see the connection between the evaporation of the expectations placed on men by the previous societal life-script and the resultant slob who appeared after women decided that they didn't really need men performing in their traditional roles.

One other thing that bothered me: besides Hymowitz' obviously irritating stance that contraception did women a favor by "liberating" them from children, I also threw my hands heavenward over her dichotomy of the guys women date (or don't date, as the case were). She gives the reader two types: the sensitive, so-called-nice guy*, who's thoughtful and in touch with his feminine side, supposedly the ideal man in a post-feminist-revolt world; the other is the man's man (as Hymowitz defines him), the kind of guy who notches his bedpost and uses something called "Game" to score women without a shred of feeling. She sees no middle ground between these two kinds of men, and finds it somewhat puzzling that women don't seem to be attracted to the sensitive man, but are rather drawn to the so-called macho man. I found it most irritating that she defined the manly man, the man's man, as the slimeball in the second example. That is not a manly man; that is a cad (<== lovely, descriptive word, that). Ascribing such things as "respect" and "care" to her "nice guy", Hymowitz paints a picture of the manly man as an arrogant, neanderthal jerk. And that's just not true. Neither of her two options sound at all appealing, and I've had just enough experience with guys to know that there's a third type, the gentleman, and with all due respect to Ms. Hymowitz and her well-placed indignation over the Gamers, that's the kind of man I want.

So while I found "Manning Up" to be a fairly informative if somewhat frenetic attempt to cover all the bases, Hymowitz' failure to offer any satisfying conclusion to the question she poses disappointed me. I did enjoy reading the book. It's not your typical summer read, but it has offered me quite a bit to think about.

--------------------------------

*Nice?! *snorts of indignation* One such "nice" guy that she quotes is miffed because "you [the average preadult woman] ignored the nice guy. You used him for emotional intimacy without reciprocating, in kind, with physical intimacy." Yeah. Cause I call a guy nice when he gives me emotional satisfaction only with the ultimate expectation that I'll sleep with him. Good call on that definition of nice, Ms. Hymowitz

O Modesty, Where is Thy Blush?

O Modesty, where is thy blush? we may ask,
O Nakedness, where is thy shame?
Fast slipping away from the people of God
Till some are mere Christians in name.

O Modesty, thou art a virtue quite rare,
A most treasured gem of each saint.
But where are the women aglow with God's love,
With courage to be labeled quaint?

The world treats unkindly who will not conform
To rules that Fashion declares.
For any who dare to step out from the crowd
Will notice the whispers and stares.


Yes, Fashion is cruel, she has her designs,
For she is the foe of the Lord.
She violates principles God has laid down
In counsel quite clear in His Word.

The daughter of Fashion must pamper her pride,
For meekness would make her too plain.
So vanity leads to all manner of show,
And Modesty's held in disdain.

As Modesty flees, and the goddess now reigns,
Discernment and conscience both sleep.
The church and the world now appear as if one--
How God's holy angels must weep!

O Modesty, waken the people of God
And let us recapture thy grace!
Adorn us with purity, meekness and love--
Prepare us to look on His face!


Moving Toward Modesty

The Power of Skirts

Interesting article that manages to discuss skirts, feminism and communism all in the same breath.