We all see ourselves reflected in the eyes of others. This is not a peculiarly feminine trait: it is simply peculiarly human. For most men this reflection is whole. (Though sadly this too is changing.) For me and my sisters the image we behold is a collection of distorted fragments, none of them pleasing, few good enough. When I behold my face the first feature I see is my too long nose, an aberrant beak, a bulbous knob. From there I note the black, immutable shadows that lie in the caverns beneath my eyes and looking up I see two canyons coursing through my forehead, deviant worry lines that do not belong there despite my forty-six years and decade of ill health.
I've known enough men to know that what they see is a 'bloke who looks pretty good for forty-six' (or fifty or sixty). It's the being inside who counts and if the man is pleased with himself then he is pleased with his reflection. Sometimes, even if there's not a lot to be pleased about, he'll still give the thumbs up. Not so woman.
A woman can achieve much, love much, make great inroads for justice, nurture others, develop her talents and her spirituality (in-so-far as she is able in this world), and still behold a hideously flawed being. Our neurosis? I don't think so. Our own lovers often tell us this story, if not through blunt words, then through their actions, even when we look to them to liberate us through their love. We at least want to be perfect in their eyes. We know that they are perfect in ours.
There are two ways to go from here. We can either break down the bonds that bind humanity in materialism and objectification, bringing the strength of feminine wisdom with us or we can harden our hearts and succumb to the inevitable, destructive forces that are at play in male dominated world. I fear the world is taking the lesser road instead of the road less travelled. There will be no winners.
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