The Shame Of Being Human

SHAME?

I had decided to be a good sport and agree to do something I despise: I got my picture taken for the church directory. I hate any activity that sets me up to be analyzed---even supposedly fun things, such as photography sessions, having someone apply my make-up, or attending one of those Mary Kaye parties where the consultant hands out cards that ask the attendees to analyze their faces:

Are your lips thin, full, or both?
Are your eyes close-set, wide-set, or average?
Is the shape of your face square, round, or oval?
Is your skin, dry, oily, or combination?

Those analytical scrutinies aren't helpful to a woman who has spent much of her adult life trying to cast off the self-critical nature she carried around for years. Those questions are even more difficult in a roomful of women who feel free to express their opinions about the appearance of everyone else in the room. I have squirmed under the uncomfortable inspections of unwelcome eyes fixed on me, voices asserting, "I think Misty's face is round. I think Misty's eyes are almond-shaped. I think Misty needs that kind of makeup for her skin color...."

But for the sake of a church directory and since I do play in the church band, I endured the unpleasantness of several awkward poses for the photographer and began to hopefully think I might get through the session without hearing any unsolicited negative analyses of myself.

But, really, how often can a woman avoid that?

"Here is one option you might consider," the photographer tried to sway me, displaying the photograph of a woman approximately sixty-five years old. "This is her 'before' picture....but this," he stated, dramatically emphasizing her second photo, "is what she looked like after our artist erased the little lines from around her eyes." My thoughts lingered on the fact that a person in their sixties (if not before) is supposed to have lines around their eyes representing life, but he quickly continued by personalizing just what their "artist" could do for me, "Now you already have beautiful skin, but we could give you.....for example....straight hair."

To save his time (and salvage my feelings in case he decided to offer further suggestions), I told him, "I'm not buying any photos. I'm just here for this directory, and I'll pass on the photoshop. I'd rather just look like a regular person."

I left feeling a little disheartened (not because he didn't like my hair) but because society feels no reluctance at implying that people are never good enough. I hate that our world does not allow people to be human---humans that have various hair, faces, and bodies. Humans that struggle with myriads of problems. Humans that have questions, confusion, and stories of imperfect decisions.

The sad result is shame:
humans feeling ashamed of looking human,
humans feeling ashamed of experiencing human emotions,
humans feeling ashamed of not being superhuman, supermodels, or superheroes.

Humans are all, at some point, supposed to be broken, wrinkled, confused, doubtful, lumpy, emotional, tired, dirty, messy-haired, runny-nosed, and tear-streaked.

Not picture-perfect. Not carefully edited into an unrealistic image that fits a false idea of perfection. Not a phony pretense of someone who always has it all together.

Humans are simply supposed to be human.
And there is no shame in that.