This article was originally published in the Bodies issue of Kaleidoscope. Read it in its original printing here or pick up a magazine at UAB Student Media’s office.
Blubbering skin flaps over the waistband of my underwear. Thick thighs jiggle, their stretch marks contest. Moist perspiration gathers on the undersides of my B-cup bra. If you feel uncomfortable reading this, imagine how I feel.
The hair that grows out of my body is wild and untamable. The hair that grows out my scalp is not straight, but kinky beyond measure and full. Schools think my hair should be controlled, thin, and straight down my back. Schools want my hair to be “normal.”
My brown eyes and big nose fill out the majority of my face. A distinct characteristic of my family tree and society’s beauty standards don’t favor the bold. My big lips are a favorite; every girl wants them. It’s a blessing and a curse.
My shoulders and arms sit forcibly wide. My muscles bulge, a gift from my father, and I enhance that gift when I sweat in the gym. Women can be strong today. Women couldn’t be strong yesterday. It’s unattractive, unfeminine, and unflattering. Women should be thin. Women should be small. What do women need muscles for?
I keep my muscles for protection. I won’t be taken lightly by any woman or man who “wants’ me. Who wants to take my haven non-consensually. Who plans to steal my joy mentally and physically. I will not be taken lightly.
My chest is small. There is no preference, but what if I have a preference? My body, my rules. Who made the rules? The rules are unfair, biased.
How do women account for the rules of thirsty men and bloodthirsty women? Who decided that women should be objected to constant scrutiny for their body shape and their beauty? Beauty is relative, so who decided that I wasn’t beautiful?
My hip dips testify, my pert butt protests, my moisturized calves scream “YES!”
My ashy feet scream “NO!”
Unknowingly, the Instagram models on my feed champion their lithe bodies. I think they are beautiful, and they are. Do I have to look like them to receive praise? It’s not their fault, but when they display the same type of look, how am I supposed to feel?
Has the world really changed? Or are we now more restrictive than ever?
So many questions. My body, my rules.
I have never a day in my life felt comfortable in my body. Life is about being uncomfortable. I love my body with all its discomfort because it belongs to me. I decide how I want to be seen, how I want to be treated in this world.
That means I shouldn’t be ashamed of how my body reacts, how it twists and conforms, how it grows and shrinks, how it accommodates to my mindset, how it leans into my fears, how it accomplishes my dreams, how it tells me what’s wrong, how it reminds me of what’s wrong, how it protects me from myself, or how it keeps me alive.
You shouldn’t be either.
