Where There's Hope

by Elizabeth A. Smart

  Lara’s story is a compelling one for me, because it focuses on her abilities, not her “disabilities.” When I first met her, I briefly felt pity for her; it didn’t take Lara long to show me that she could do everything I could do as well as I could do it—and sometimes even better. She reminds me of Hester from The Scarlet Letter; by the end of the book, the scarlet letter on Hester’s breast didn’t stand for “adultery” anymore, it stood for “able.” To me, Lara is the very embodiment of “able.”

  I was raised to believe that my body was a gift, that it was special and I needed to take care of it. We’re constantly being bombarded by images of what the “perfect” body should be. On social media, there are articles about and exercise routines for getting the perfect arms, a flat stomach, a perky derriere, shapely legs, and let’s not forget the all-important thigh gap. And yes, I’ll admit, I’ve fallen prey to wanting to look a certain way, weigh a certain number, and getting completely caught up in how I look in not only jeans but in spandex—the love-hate relationship, looks versus comfort. In general, I feel good about the way I look, but there have been times when I haven’t appreciated everything my body can do. It took being pregnant to open my eyes to how amazing my body really is.

  I did not enjoy my first pregnancy at all. I’m not the nicest me that I can be when I’m pregnant, probably because I feel like I can’t breathe or sleep and have to be in a thirty-second proximity to a bathroom at all times. Nor do I particularly enjoy the different comments from other people, like, “Oh, I see you’ve got a bun in the oven,” or “I can see you’re in the family way,” or “You look like you’re ready to pop.” I understand the good intentions, but I find all these comments distasteful and obnoxious. And I admit, I said a few of these things before I was the pregnant lady on the receiving end of them. Now I don’t.

  During my pregnancy with Chloé, I worried—like any expectant parent—that I had this child growing inside me and yet I didn’t feel any great love for the baby. All I could feel at the time was this alien taking over my body and preventing me from doing anything fun or enjoying a single night’s rest without having to get up and go to the bathroom twenty times. What’s wrong with me? I wondered. I worried about what would happen if she came out and I still didn’t feel all those fluffy domestic feelings a mommy is supposed to feel.

  And then I was in the hospital. Labor had begun. Matthew was there with me, holding my hand. At one point I remember being in so much pain, I wanted to ask the doctor to make it stop. I wasn’t ready yet! But then I realized: There’s only one direction for this baby to go, and it’s not backwards. When Chloé emerged, perfect and beautiful and, yes, covered in blood, I remember crying, not tears of pain any longer but tears of pure emotion. She was beautiful. And she was mine. I had created her. My body had created her. I remember holding her in my arms for the first time right after she was born, her little body next to mine, knowing that there was nothing more precious or beautiful in the whole world, knowing that from that day forward, I would do anything for her, to keep her safe, to keep her healthy, to keep her happy, and to make sure she always knows how much she is loved.

  As I recovered, I was in awe at what my body had done, the hard work it had put into creating this little person without any conscious effort from me. I started to love my body more than ever before—never mind the flabby stomach, breasts three times their normal size, and crazy spontaneous hormone sweats that would happen as my body readjusted to not having a baby inside.

  I look at my daughter now, and I don’t want her to worry about a number on the scale. I don’t want her to see supermodels or Photoshopped women and try to attain in real life what can actually be attained only by a skilled artist on a computer screen. I hope she realizes that our bodies are gifts, that they are the one-of-a-kind, very special vessels that hold our spirits while we walk through this earthly life. I love that old saying “We’re not physical beings having a spiritual experience; we’re spiritual beings having a physical experience.” But that physical experience does have a profound effect on our spirit. That’s what I want my daughter to keep in mind when she sees her body in the mirror so that she respects that body and takes care of it and loves it.

  While I was pregnant, I took my health very seriously. I wanted to make sure I remained healthy throughout pregnancy and afterward. I reached out to Helen Golden, a trainer at the gym I go to. She suggested we meet in person first to decide if we got along, to see if we were a good match as trainer and client. I had never had a professional trainer suggest that to me before. It was usually just “Yes, I have an opening” or “No, I don’t have an opening.” It hadn’t really occurred to me before that a personal trainer is just as much about the personal as they are about the training. I was excited and, for some strange reason, nervous about meeting her. I’m a pretty easygoing person. I may not always agree with everyone, but I don’t become explosive or bullheaded when someone disagrees with me or suggests a different point of view. But this was a blind date of sorts, and I really wanted her to like me.

  I had no reason to be nervous. Helen is kind, all about the motivation, but very human and grounded at the same time. She started training me the following week, and she’s been training me ever since. After I had Chloé, I told her, “I want to be physically stronger and have a greater endurance. I really hope that Chloé never worries about body image, but if she ever does, I hope she’ll know what she needs to do to change because she sees me taking care of my body and exercising.”

  I had been what you might call an on-again-off-again runner, good one month, bad the next. Helen suggested that I try running a half marathon: 13.1 miles. At first I laughed out loud. I live a pretty active life, horseback riding almost year-round, skiing in the winter, and I have two dogs with lots of energy, but I felt like running three miles was a half marathon for me. Still, I thought about what Helen said and ultimately decided to give it a shot. I decided to run the Thankful 13 Thanksgiving half marathon. I ended up recruiting my older brother, my sister, her husband, her sister in-law, and my friend and running buddy to take on the challenge as well. It helped me so much, not just having people to run it with but having to be accountable to them. Every time Helen and I met, she asked if I had been completing my runs, stretching, and paying attention to nutrition. I wasn’t perfect, but pretty soon I was running eight and nine miles without stopping.

  Thanksgiving finally came, and I was up bright and early at the starting line. I did not look glamorous at all. I had on a black fluffy hat, a bright blue pullover, fuzzy gray gloves, black spandex pants, and my bright-green running shoes that look like I stole them from the circus. My sister showed up looking like a movie star, her whole outfit coordinated and sleek—no fuzzy anything—not to mention her beautiful eyelash extensions, which she doesn’t even need because her eyelashes are just plain ridiculous to begin with, and her hair in a high ponytail with a sporty little ear band. Another important lesson for my daughter: Never compare yourself to other women. Down that road lies despair.

  The half marathon ended up being a lot of fun. It was really hard, but I was so happy I did it. I’m pretty sure I came in 523rd out of over 900, and no, that’s not exactly what you would call competitive, but I was so proud of myself just for doing it—and for completing it without walking once. I was also secretly happy that I beat my flawless, gorgeous sister by a couple minutes. The rest of the day, my legs felt like Jell-O, and I avoided moving as much as possible, but if anything gives you the green light to eat whatever and however much you want on Thanksgiving, running a half marathon does.

  I couldn’t wait to report my success back to Helen, who has been a contender in the fitness world for many years, and who was thrilled for me—which isn’t to say she was ready to go easy on me. She consistently challenged me and pushed me. It got me thinking about the connection of total personal well-being and physical fitness, and I asked her if she’d come by my house and talk with me about that one day after she was done tr
aining her other clients.

  She knocks on my door just as I’m putting away the vacuum. I’m constantly waging war with my floor because of the quantity of white dog hair that appears almost as quickly as I can clean it up. I invite her in, and we both make ourselves comfortable on the sofa in my family room. I dive right in with the big question: “How has staying in shape helped you through emotional or trying times in your life?”

  “There is one incident that I remember and fall back to with my own clients,” says Helen. “I tell them you have to be strong enough to push or pull your own body weight, because you never know when someone is going to need your strength. I remember very vividly being in an auto accident with an eighteen-wheeler with both my babies in the backseat. It was very scary. The car was totaled. But being as physically capable as I was at that time in my life, I was able to get out of the car and get both of my babies out of the backseat and comfort them. You never know when you might need to be there for somebody else.”

  Helen’s hierarchy of priorities is just like mine: Family is more important than anything, but I believe in that airplane safety lecture philosophy of parenting that says you have to put your own oxygen mask on first or you won’t be able to help anyone else.

  “There is a definite connection between the mind, body, and spirit,” she says. “They’re all feeding each other, and when you have an unhealthy physical body, things are not functioning at an optimum, therefore your brain is not thinking at its highest potential, and your spirit would then be running at a much lower level. It’s all connected.”

  That does make perfect sense to me. Too many times I’ve sacrificed sleep for work or not taken the time to prepare a healthy meal, opting instead for something quick and easy, and I always regret it later, feeling the sleep deprivation or the bloating and heavy feeling of indigestible food in my stomach distracting me from completing the task at hand. This is a problem that frequently confronts college students. We accept too easily that a student’s life automatically means late nights, early mornings, vending-machine food—not a good combination.

  In Helen’s world, fitness is a combination of four basic components: “First, there’s cardio. I love running because I get the endorphins with that. Second, there’s lifting. I love weight lifting because it makes me feel so empowered and strong as a woman. Third, there’s stretching, which is Pilates for me. I love Pilates because it’s such a mental game, one of the highest forms of connecting the brain to the body. I love that challenge, and it’s an ongoing challenge. I’m never too confident to say I’ve mastered it because I don’t think you can master it. You just continue to fine-tune it. Fourth, there’s balance. Working on balance is a great way to rehab when you’re injured, plus now that I’m getting older balance is becoming more important.”

  “Do you think taking care of your body and staying fit helps you recover more quickly?”

  Helen pauses for a moment, thinking, and then says, “That’s actually a double-edged sword. I’m so active, I’m prone to injury. As a matter of fact, I have osteoarthritis because of overuse of my body. But compared to other women my age with that condition, I’m able to outperform them because of my lifestyle. So ultimately, yes, I do recover quicker, and I’m able to perform at a higher level than most women my age.”

  Thinking about my awesome half marathon, I know I was more consistent and determined because I had a goal set for myself, but I wonder if everyone is like that—and if it’s like that from the other side of the personal trainer equation. I ask Helen, “When you train, do you do it better when you’re working toward a goal?”

  “Absolutely,” she says, nodding. “And when I’m working for a goal of my own—say, a running event—I’ll intentionally pick a route where I know there’s going to be a lot of traffic, because there’s always the case of running into someone who knows me. If I’m not performing at the level they expect, then I’m just slacking off, and I can’t have that. Having a goal gives me something to work for.”

  Helen is highly disciplined, and I admire that. I’m a sucker for freezer burritos, late-night pizza, and those waxy chocolate Donettes made by Hostess. What can I say? I’m a work in progress. But I have come a long way. Now the chocolate Donettes are only an occasional treat, and I have not had a freezer burrito since the last time they were passing them out as samples at Costco. Helen has helped me set the bar higher for myself physically than it ever has been before. Things that I thought I couldn’t do before—like my half marathon—I realize I can do now. I need to train for them, but they are within my ability to accomplish.

  I ask Helen, “Have you ever struggled?” I know this sounds blasé and a bit silly coming from me, but she is so strong, physically and emotionally, I can’t imagine her struggling with anything within her power to control.

  She pauses for a minute, like she wants to say something but is taking time to consider whether it’s really a good idea to share. And then she takes a deep breath and says, “Well, when I was in college … a freshman in a military junior college … I was raped. Rumors then flew around campus that I was promiscuous. Word got all the way up to the administrative staff, and I was very ashamed and embarrassed and didn’t know how to deal with it, so I talked to my father, who was an army officer. I asked him, ‘What should I do?’”

  She doesn’t tell me how he responded, but what she says next makes it clear.

  “Back then sexual harassment was swept under the rug, so I felt very alone. It has affected me on a very personal basis, in my relationships, where the visual or the memories would come to me, and I’d just have to take a deep breath. I’ve dealt with it, and I’ve been honest with my husband about those things. That’s how we’ve been able to continue to have a strong marriage. He knows when I need a shoulder to lean on. But if you don’t deal with it, and talk about it, and acknowledge it, then it can own you. And I don’t want to be owned by that. Not at all.”

  One insidious side effect of sexual abuse for many survivors is damage to that sense of ownership. So many of the rape survivors I’ve met with are visibly uncomfortable in their own bodies, hiding inside baggy clothes or fighting back in self-destructive ways. It’s hard for them to rebuild a healthy mind and spirit, because their body has become this unwelcoming environment. And it’s sometimes hard to rebuild their bodies, because they’ve been told—by words and/or actions—that their body has no value. Reclaiming that value, cherishing that body they live in, might be the first step toward recovery, but it can also be one of the most difficult.

  Whoever you are, whatever your shape, size, or level of fitness, I promise you, your body is amazing. It’s beautiful. Our bodies are worth cherishing and caring for and defending just as fiercely as we do our homes, cars, clothes—whatever it is that we value.

  I love that Lara now calls her arm her “lucky” arm because of the wisdom of a friend pointing out to her that she would be dead or a quadriplegic right now if her arm had not sacrificed itself for her. And I love that Helen, after her body was violated in one of the most devastating ways possible, fought back by loving herself. She recognized that if she didn’t take the proper steps, that experience would own her. The ability to physically heal is intricately interwoven with emotional and psychological healing. It’s really pretty miraculous how our bodies have the ability to mend bones and overcome illness, to respond to our commands, and to create life.

  So why is it, do you suppose, that we’re so harshly judgmental of our bodies?

  Why do we “treat” ourselves with things that are actually self-destructive?

  And how do we make it easier for our children—especially our daughters—to love and cherish these beautiful, powerful, amazing bodies they’ve been born with?

  8

  Building a Life of Love

  My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue …

  —CAROLE KING, “TAPESTRY”

  We are all hurt one way or another, and it is love that heals. I think “finding suppor
t” means building supportive relationships. Because at the end of the day, relationships are what life is all about. Finding the important, uplifting, healthy ones makes all the difference in who we are and the choices we make, and sometimes we find them in unexpected ways. The more we allow our love out into the world, the more we see the common ground. I am constantly seeing this pattern of love over and over again, across all trials and walks of life.

  “For me, my life was church, school, and home,” says human rights activist Angeline Jackson. “I was a homebody. I was a church girl.” This is common ground we share. Our stories are thousands of miles apart but parallel in many ways. Like me, Angeline accepted herself, loved her family, served her community, and reached out into the world. Like mine, her path was interrupted, but she found it again.

  Angeline grew up in a tight-knit Christian family in Jamaica, the daughter of a pastor and a Sunday school superintendent, knowing from a young age that she is a lesbian. She began volunteering with her parish’s AIDS Association while she was in high school, providing support to young people and families affected by HIV, which brought her into contact with people in the LGBT community. When Angeline was nineteen, she agreed to meet a troubled young woman who’d contacted her online, asking for help. Wanting to be cautious about meeting a stranger in a bad neighborhood, Angeline asked a friend to go with her. As the two girls walked to the place where the meeting was supposed to take place, two men approached them. One of the men said he was the stepbrother of the woman Angeline had been talking with online. In fact, the woman was part of a plan to “cure” Angeline and her friend of their homosexuality. Angeline’s friend was brutally raped by both men. When they discovered Angeline was on her period, they forced her to her knees and orally raped her with a gun to her head.