anthurium

Last Friday was a good day. I felt confident, energized, and playful.

Also, beautiful.

I know that the amount of bodily scrutiny and criticism I am subjected to to is trivial, compared to women of size. Nevertheless, the pressure to conform to the beauty standards is very real. I’m fucking tired of letting the patriarchy dictate my self-esteem.

It’s not that easy. Image after image of Photoshopped perfection have been burned into my retinas and etched into my subconscious. On some level, I’m still acting out a script that was written on my journey from socially inept girl to awkward adolescent. I’m afraid that there is something wrong with me, deep down; a tragic flaw that would cause everyone to abandon me if they really knew me. The only way I can keep people in my life is to be the perfect friend, employee, partner; of course, that includes looking perfect.

I used to be teased constantly about being ugly, weird, clumsy, and queer. When I moved away from Bumfucksuburbia, that kind of harassment stopped. Still, shattering negative-self perceptions is no easy task.

I’m not telling you this because I’m seeking approbation. I’m telling you this in the hopes that writing down these totally absurd, negative thoughts can help me to own and eradicate them.

Although the public admission of this fact embarrasses me, I’ve gained a little weight over the past two years. This gain is a result of my thyroid surgery, back injury, and mostly, having a more sedentary job. Like everything else in life, our bodies are constantly changing. The inextricable link between body image and confidence is a social construct that effectively keeps women subjugated. I quit. I truly, finally, made a decision not to play the game anymore.

It’s taken me almost two years to let go of the idea that hating my body is somehow going to magically melt away pounds. I’m still not there, but I’m through trying to live in some imaginary future where losing weight solves all my problems. I’m through dieting. I’m through commenting on other women’s bodies. Analyzing, comparing, and critiquing female flaws buys into patriarchal body norms. I refuse to pay compliments on weight loss, and if any of my feminist friends do so in my presence, I am going to call them on it. I have to keep telling myself that there is absolutely nothing wrong with my body. I am beautiful, and anyone who thinks otherwise can go suck a fuck.

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