An open letter to my body.
I’ve never been a big fan of you. Ever since I was little, I didn’t like you very much. It was always something. I always felt like I didn’t belong, in the body I have (–in you). I didn’t care for you nor did I care about you. I hated the way you looked. I hated, even more, the way people looked at me because of you. Growing up, I was always compared to those around me. I never had the body I was supposed to have, nor look the way I should’ve (according to those who compared). The others are those who “are doing it right” *like we’re supposed to know what is acceptable in others’ eyes, as opposed to the authenticity of ourselves. * (but like, how are you supposed to know what you are supposed to look like if all you can really look like is the way you have always looked like.) Not that I cannot help the way I look, but this is the way I was made to look.
I forgot that YOU are the design.
You were always curvier than most girls at my school. Because of this, we were not allowed to wear yoga pants, shorts, skirts, or dresses to school – if so, we were breaking the dress-code for showing “too much”. Meanwhile, other girls were allowed to wear shorts – even go so far as to wearing oversized t-shirts that surpassed their shorts. Which made the illusion of not wearing anything underneath. *no disrespect to them, but I feel as if that’s a better example of “showing too much” * Besides school, church, was another place where judgment would be at an all-time high. We couldn’t wear certain dresses, because they accentuated our curves. If we wore them, then I would be labeled as “bad” “slut” “hoe” “disrespectful” “sexual”. It was and still is, hard finding dresses where they fit us properly. You’re small on the top half, and bigger for the bottom half. Do you know how hard it is to find something that isn’t too small for the bottom or too big for the top? I can never win, with you. I still struggle with you.
Remember when boobs were what all the boys crazed over? How, No boobs = No boys. You didn’t have any, which lead to no boys being interested in you and me. Then it shifted to the craze of ass. You didn’t have a butt either. However, you did – and do, have hips. I recall 10th grade English class where a boy classmate said to me, “Oh wow, you have them birthing hips” while laughing. I was mortified –embarrassed even. This statement has forever haunted me, through all these years.
We have yet given birth with these hips. I hate them if I’m being completely honest. My biggest insecurity is your hips.
I can’t fit into anything without shit riding up every two steps I take. I get a lot of attention thanks to you. I hate being stared at and I hate when strangers feel the need to compliment me by touching.
I don’t like your curves. Most days.
Some days I love them. However, those days are pretty rare.
I feel uncomfortable – I wish I didn’t. I am someone that preaches about self-love, as I’m continuing to learn and grow. Going down the path of recognizing [my body] you. I’m not perfect – trust me, no one is. I’m practicing by listening, loving, and accepting you.
Sometimes I feel as if I don’t belong in the body that I have. And that’s okay to feel some type of way, as long as we recognize and validate our emotions. It’s hard sometimes not to lose yourself in your seas of insecurities. Diving in too deep, that you’re drowning and you don’t even know it. Until you’ve reached the bottom and there’s nowhere else to swim. Forcing you to kick and pull yourself up to the shore – to take a breather. Letting out the first exhale as a cry out for help.
Honestly, it’s a love-hate relationship.
