A Love Letter to My Body
Because it deserves better than what I gave it
I know I was lucky in the early days, to be blessed with a body that was considered beautiful by our culture’s restrictive standards. All of a sudden, at 12 years old, you grew a few inches and turned all my baby fat into sensuous curves.
It was so early, though. I didn’t know what to do with all the unwanted attention from boys. From men.
Beauty threatened your safety, your sovereignty. You didn’t have a choice anymore about who touched you or where. It seemed no one could keep their hands off you and there were so few people who were willing to stand up and protect you.
Thus began our destructive relationship. I started to eat as if eating was a hobby. I wanted to make you unattractive to all the grabbing hands, the solicitations. I wanted to make you disappear.
Of course, it only made them want to hurt you, even more, calling you fat, pig, ugly, thunder thighs.
I started to think you were ugly, too.
The more I tried to control you — make you pretty, make you ugly — the more I lost control. Until one day, I couldn’t even see you, anymore. I didn’t even know you outside of other people’s perceptions of you.
