“Is it so hard to be you, when you’re perfectly made?” I read in a message this morning.
The other day I was going to yoga with a friend of mine who shared a comment about not loving her body right now as she gained some weight.
I suddenly felt myself shut down and get silent.
I heard in my head the words from so many women over my teenage and adult life “You wouldn’t understand. Your body is perfect.”
Except, I do understand.
I remember standing in a shopping mall when I was 12 and having a mother with her two daughters come up to me to measure the size of my ankle, shrieking at how tiny I was.
I remember being told to “Eat a cheeseburger” by customer I served at restaurants.
I remember being called “Twiggy” when I played volleyball and feeling self conscious of my knobby knees, thin legs and lack of breasts.
I remember stuffing toilet paper in my bra and buying excessively padded bras because of how self conscious I was of my lack of womanness and breasts.
I remember having sex with my bra on when I was 17 because I felt sexier with it and hated how tiny my breasts were.
I was bullied in school, harassed constantly for having a “eating disorder” and then told by women that I couldn’t be part of the self love learning to accept your body as it is club because “I couldn’t get it”.
I suddenly found my voice with my friend. I told her that I was afraid to tell her I understood from being silenced both in jokes and literacy from women my whole life.
Body love is a journey—no matter the size of our meat bag.
Please know that I’ve stood in front of mirrors and hated my body.
I’ve looked at my hips protruding from my waist with disgust.
I’ve seen my spine peeking out in photos and cringed, hearing the words of women and men my whole life “She has an eating disorder. She looks unhealthy.”
I’ve also spent the time in my cabin, for months and months where I forced myself to just be naked. Be me. Cook naked, garden naked, hang out in daylight naked and accept all of my littleness.
I’ve wanted bigger boobs, soft hips and curves my whole life. When I was 18 I thought I’d also buy me some boobs.
Size 0’s have journeys of self love, too.