That Damn Jennifer

My "friend" Jennifer has been around since I was a young girl.  She was everything that I wasn't.  Her hair was curly, sometimes long and sometimes short and wavy.  She was tall and slender and had matching sweater sets and cool shoes.   Her bedroom was pink and she had a bed with a canopy over it and a pink princess phone.   In high school she was a cheerleader and the prom queen.  She could do the splits and oddly I envied that most since it was the one thing that kept me from being a cheerleader  Jennifer took advantage of my lack of confidence especially with "the popular girls".  She made me feel that I was not good enough.  I didn't measure up to their standards.  Or hers.

Jennifer was my imaginary friend and biggest critic.  Sometimes I let her into my head too much and she would try to run my life.

Jennifer is the woman that we all  try to be or at least that society tells us we should be.  She is the young girl in the commercials for wrinkle reducing cream who doesn't even have a wrinkle.  She is  the one in the weight loss adds who really doesn't need to lose weight and the one who looks great in all those gauzy, flowing dresses.  Jennifer is  ageless, tall and thin with a flat stomach, long perpetually tanned legs and perky boobs (she doesn't really have to wear a bra) and cleavage that will never wrinkle.   She has long, blonde curly hair.   Sometimes it is perfectly straight and sometimes it is wavy and long or short and bouncy.     Jennifer looks innocent but I think she is a cross between Martha Steward and Betty Crocker  and those girls on the cover of Cosmopolitan, who wear business suits with nothing underneath the jacket.  

Throughout my life, Jennifer  offered me advice like "if you lost ten pounds, curled your hair, wore more makeup, and sexier underwear and grew flowers in your garden, or at least weeded  the ones you have, you would be happier.  As I got older her advice became more insistent.  

She was critical of the way I dressed. 

"Don't wear leggings,  you are too old.  Leggings are not pants.  here's an article on what not to wear after 50".  She scorns my jeans and tie dyed t-shirts.  She raises her eyebrows at my lycra running shorts and tights.  "Women over 50 should never wear those" she says.   "And blue toe nail polish is for women under 30".

Jennifer started to criticize my writing too. "No one cares what you have to say.  You will never be a writer.  Yeah you wrote nursing articles for publication and authored textbooks,  but you aren't a real writer.   You know you will be the oldest person in that writing class".

That damn Jennifer is the one who has been telling me I am too old to run.  "You'll never run a half marathon again so don't even think of a marathon.  You have a bad back.  You haven't gone more than 7 miles in a long time.  You are so slow.  You should be doing more yoga and you should also stretch more,"  she admonishes me.    "And  do weight. . You need to work on that soggy core and saggy arms.  Do squats.   Do burpees.  Try pilates.  Eat these supplements and your hair will curl.  More calcium.  More adaptogens.  Try probiotics.  Metamucil - that will help you stay regular.  Eat prunes. Older women get bloated and constipated.   French fries are bad.  Red meat is inflammatory".

Sometimes listening to Jennifer,  I feel defeated.  I really try to ignore her but she always comes back to harass me.  

Jennifer was never my friend.  Her critical comments caused me to spend a lot of money on expensive makeup and lotions that promised to make me look 20 years younger, have a bright shiny face and to remove the bags from under my eyes.  She made me hate my stomach even though it was flexible enough to stretch out to enormous lengths to accommodate three pregnancies.

I am going to invite Jennifer over to go for a run.  Maybe we will have a glass of wine.  And then we will say goodbye.  I can't be friends with someone who treats me that way.