And you know what? That voice isn't me. It's every other person in the world. It's mankind. Since birth, I have been told to be quiet. Be polite. Be accommodating. Be friendly. Be pretty. Be thin. Be smart, but not too smart.
And most importantly, the beauty and the brains mean nothing without the body.
The stretch marks on my hips negate the smile on my lips.
All the good, all those wins mean nothing if I'm not thin.
I can't even express to you how much I hate my body. How much I fight it, how much bitterness it causes me. I lather it will creams and tanner. I work it to exhaustion at the gym. I suffocate it in a vice of a corset, all trying to change the thing God gifted me. This thing that houses my soul, that grew two beautiful boys, that carries a brilliant brain. From the moment we arrive on this earth, girls are told what to do, how to act, what to not say. We don't stand a chance. This is why we starve ourselves, why we try to cut the fat from our skin, why we stay with abusive men.
This isn't a plea for compliments. I don't want to hear, but you're so athletic and toned! Your boobs are to die for! This isn't the body that I want, and that isn't why I wrote this. I want to you know that you're not the only one who struggles, who feels bad about yourself and then eats entire sleeve of Oreos. And then hates yourself more.
And I'm tired. I'm just so tired of never being enough. I'm tired of struggling. All that I want is an acknowledgment, a helping hand, a hot young, boyfriend.
A touch.
I'm going to die alone, with my apartment smelling like cat piss and birthday cake. I wrote a poem about it, but I stuck it in another post because it didn't really go here. http://laurenmarchand.blogspot.com/2016/03/a-touch.html
So, this is ironic, because my daughter Kaylee and I were having a talk about some of this the other night. I was explaining to her what fake boobs are (haha, she's 8 now and starting to notice-especially because two of her aunts have them), and she asked, "But why does it matter how big your boobs are?" And I realized that, from the simplistic view of a child, she was totally right. Why does it matter? Because society tells us it does? So I tried to tell her that it really doesn't matter, but there are people out there who want you to think that does.
ReplyDeleteNow, you have A-MAZING boobs, and I'm a barely A, but I'd take this a step further and say that the this applies to the whole concept of body image. There are the obvious health reasons that you want to stay in shape, and that's why I workout and eat semi-healthy. But beyond that, it SHOULDN'T matter if our thighs jiggle or we have a little muffin top or our arms wobble. And it drives me crazy that we live in a world that expects photoshopped perfection and makes us hate the flaws in our bodies when we should feel wondrous at the miracle of our bodies instead.
I have a lot of days when I'm super critical of my own body, but there are a few things I've done (or stopped doing) to try to let go of that. One, I never read magazines. Even though they are a mindless and entertaining distraction, it compels us to compare ourselves with something that isn't real. Two, I have to realize that, just like everything else in life, our bodies have seasons. I may never, ever get back to the tight size 6 that I was in college. But I can hike Angel's Landing, keep up in a kickboxing class, and fill out a pair of jeans nicely. And all I have to do is look at my 80 lb grandma to realize I'm grateful for the fat and muscles on my body.
The beauty industry reminds me of The Hunger Games, when society went so far in the transformation of their bodies that they implanted cat whiskers and dyed their skin. Honestly, liposuction and implants are only a step away from that. I don't always love my body (most days I don't), but I'm trying to remember that being healthy and strong will make me happier than being thin and miserable.
Love you girl!!
(Haha, you didn't know you'd get a novel from me in your comments section, did you?)
Perfection is shoved into our faces everyday, and when you're not perfect, you feel like less of a person. I struggle every day, mainly because I workout like a mad woman and I will never been thin. It's not in my genetic makeup. And I feel so bad about that. I feel like I will never be good enough, no matter how much I succeed in life, no matter how kind or smart or funny I am, it 's enough without the perfect body. I'm trying to overcome it. If I would have lived in the 1800s my body would be the ideal. I was just born in the wrong time.
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