Breast Cancer Barbie

After numerous parenting conversations and ecstatic dances to the soundtrack, the family is off to see the Barbie movie. I’m sitting this one out in favor of a quiet Sunday afternoon with Luna, who, for the record, has been known to steal an unsuspecting doll here or there, leaving teeth marks in an arm or leg.

Although I won’t be seeing the movie today, I’ve been thinking about my own evolution with Barbie, from child to parent. Rather than any particular doll, I remember my Barbie camper with such fondness (which is likely residing in a landfill along with horrifying numbers of plastic objects). Oh the adventures and stories created, the little duffle bags packed, and the long naps on the pull-out beds. Barbie and Ken had many kissing sessions in the camper, and for other friends Ken and Ken did, Barbie and Barbie–all with evolution of self, the development of body, the curiosity of gender and sex, the pure fun, a backdrop to our adolescence and innocence. Later, I would become more critical of this figure standing on tip toe and whose body didn’t fit my own. She represented everything plastic and fake in my Los Angeles (fill in the blank of any place) environment.

By the time my kids were introduced to Barbie, she existed with different body shapes and names, diverse backgrounds and stories. We created our own dream house from cardboard during the pandemic, and while we are in the concluding, twilight years of Barbie play as the kids immerse in varied interests and activities, Barbie won’t ever completely ride off at sunset in her camper. She seems to stay around in our consciousness, including now, as my body undergoes so many changes.

Ruth Handler, inventor of Barbie and co-founder of Mattel, wasn’t a name with which I was familiar as a child. From the Los Angeles Times obituary: “Herself a breast cancer survivor, she personally sold and fitted the prosthesis and crisscrossed the country as a spokeswoman for early detection of the disease in the 1970s, when it was still a taboo subject. Recognizing the continuity in her evolution from “Barbie’s mom” to prosthesis pioneer, Handler sometimes quipped, “I’ve lived my life from breast to breast.” The creator of one of the most well-known dolls evolved in ways I hadn’t appreciated years ago, during a time when my own family were undergoing treatment. Since then, we’ve made tremendous strides as countless women and men have torn through the taboo with sweat and tears, dollars raised and articles published.

Alongside our physical, bodily selves we know there are some sensitive realities that evolve differently, that cannot be covered with pink lipstick or blush. Try as we may, there is no plastic container within which we can store away emotional and spiritual suffering of any kind. That requires different types of space, time, resources, and more. As the season of Elul begins this coming Shabbat, I am reminded of all the ways we open up our hearts to brokenness, and release what truths and hopes may have been stored away. We consider what help we may need to become more whole. The soul returns to it’s Source, seeking the space beyond ego and fear–a space for healing and spiritual attunement with ourselves, each other, and the Source of Breath.

Thank God, we don’t do this work alone. The evolution of Barbie I find most moving is that she exists with an ever-expanding community of friends. May it be so for whatever travails and joys we experience, savoring in the comfort of real connection to others, adventuring together on this windy road called life.