Feeding Lucifer Musing

My friend Amber was pointing to a picture that was solely of her, but she mentioned two names in describing it to me: It was her and "Thelma." I thought for a second that my friend had now named the voices in her head, but those fears were quickly put to rest; "Thelma" is the "roll." C'mon, girls -- you know what I'm talking about: The Roll. It made me think about how women relate to their bodies, and it also made me feel a bit left out. My roll had no name.

Amber and I brainstormed for a few minutes, trying to think up a name for my roll. Amber suggested "Esperanza" (hope); I suggested "El Diablo" (the Devil), and somewhere in there, we found the answer: My roll is now "Lucifer." It made perfect sense. Every time I look at my roll, I say (scream?) "Get thee behind me, Satan!" and I constantly remind myself to "resist the Devil, and he will flee from you." Dinnertime? It's time to feed "Lucifer." And when I go walking, I'm exercising my demons.

Having a name for my roll also helped me to hate my body less (regardless of its name). Aside from being MY tummy, MY waist, it now has a name. It's a part of me that I've more or less come to terms with; I've accepted it, and I can laugh (hysterically) at it when it makes an appearance in pictures or when it ungraciously shows itself in a fitting room (rather than crumpling up and crying in the middle of Wal-mart).