November 17, 2017
It seems like with every new season or chapter of my life, I add another layer of self-acceptance and self-love to my character...which allows me to let go a little bit of another part of myself that I don’t totally love...but I also get this feeling that the same self -resentment and body-hatred bobs up to the surface every year...albeit it becomes more dulled as I get older and wiser, but it never really goes away. I think because these layers of self-love are really wrapping around the core--the core that reminds me that I’m a woman and that there is a certain standard that I should subscribe to that I’ll never be able to fully eradicate or unsubscribe from.
I spend a lot of time thinking about whether or not I’m beautiful...and even with my career aspirations, I think about it a lot...like sometimes when I’m feeling excited or nervous about the future, I imagine what it’d be like to be at a press conference or a panel speaking about a film that I made that was a major success, and I think about whether I’ll be thin, or the dress I might be wearing at the interview, and whether people will think I’m beautiful for a director. And then I imagine that male directors probably never think about this...that they are allowed this untainted, wholesome experience of being proud of their accomplishment and proud only. That they don’t walk out with a thin veil of self consciousness like women do. And I wonder if maybe I hadn’t been born female, I could walk around without this veil of self consciousness that always seems to linger somewhere, always seems to lurk around the corner and throw me off balance right when I think I’ve finally gotten rid of it.