I debated posting something about this ever since I saw a Humans of New York post about it. I just haven't been able to get it out of my mind, so I figured it was time.
The majority of my life I've been pretty freaking skinny—tan, skinny, and blonde. Many people see this combination and think "Oh, she must have no self-esteem issues at all! If I looked like that, I would be happy." I didn't try to look like this. It was just my genetics. I came the way I came. I had a fast metabolism and was dancing and swimming and in general pretty active, just because I liked it.
I remember a moment my freshman year of high school when I was walking to the cafeteria and I head someone behind me say something about anorexia. Who knows if it was actually about me, but I took it that way and became more embarrassed about my awkward teenage body than I already was. There's all this hype about fat-shaming and I'm not saying skinny-shaming is the same thing, but it's definitely out there, too.
People always talk about the "freshman fifteen," a splendid moment that hit me as the "gap-year fifteen." As much as my 13 year old self couldn't wait to have boobs, my 18 year old self was mourning the stretch marks, the dimples, the multiple necks that I felt plagued my body. People would comment on the change, some saying I was still beautiful or that it didn't matter what I looked like.
But I didn't feel beautiful and it didn't matter what anyone told me. I was never going to feel beautiful because I couldn't see myself as such.
My point is really what we all should know to be true.
Body positivity doesn't come from a weight, or a diet, or how "in shape" a person is. Recently I've been looking at myself in the mirror, at my reflection in a window, or just down at my body as I sit, walk, dance, type, anything, and feeling good. Sure, it's summer and I'm more happily tan and blonde and thinner than my gap-year self and that makes me personally feel pretty. Last summer, though I was tanner and blonder and my thought process wasn't the same, though, so the only thing that has really changed is my brain.
Posts from women about their own lightning strikes of stretch marks, countless illustrations, and aerie's incredible (although shouldn't be) campaign for unretouched women all remind me of the different kinds of beauty.
Obviously just viewing these things is not what made me more body positive. I've had to push myself out of my comfort zone in order to feel comfortable in my body. Through Carleton's Skin Deep, rock climbing, dancing more and in different ways, talking about my body, and wearing short shorts—all things that scared me, believe it or not—I've been able to come to see myself as beautiful.
The point is:
It's a constant battle. You do have to tell the little judgmental side of your brain to shut up sometimes and other times you have to listen to it in order to motivate yourself to push a little harder, if that's what is going to fuel your beauty fire.
In my "gap-year fifteen" phase my mom was always the one to tell me that I was the only one who could change how I felt. I always kind of hated it when she did, because I would commented on my body while I was eating ice cream or something complaining about one of my chins and I knew she was right, but couldn't admit it to myself or could't find a way to change it.
Mama, you were right. As always.
