First, as a young woman, I was taught to cover my body up. I was told, in words and in actions, that my exposed skin was shameful, ugly and dirty. If I wore a skirt that was too short, it was met with comments about how I would be perceived, whether it made me into an object to boys, or as 'slutty' or cheap. I stopped wearing skirts. If it wore a top that showed my stomach, I was told to cover up so as to not invite unwanted attention or advances. Cover up or someone will hurt you. (And it'll be your own fault, you know, as sexual assault always is.)
I was also told that my body wasn't good enough. My thighs rubbed together when I walked. Why couldn't I just lose a little weight there? I would look so much better. My body didn't belong to me. I was harassed by boys and men alike for the curves I was developing, and so I covered them up. Baggy pants, baggy shirts, lots of layers - these were my armor. Cover up or you're open to criticism. Cover up too much, and you get more criticism.
My body has done a great many things for me, including keeping me alive and giving two beautiful children to the world. As an adult, I tried really hard to shut out the world's idea of what my body should be and marveled in what it could do. It was really eye-opening. But then came the time when I had to go out, go to the swimming pool, dress up for a function. Clothes didn't fit well. They never really had, considering my curves never allowed me to just be one size, but after having kids, it was thrown much more askew. Wear a two piece bathing suit after having had children and watch the looks you get at the pool. Yes, I have stretch marks, and my lumps and bumps are hard to hide. But man did I try to hide them. The world told me I should, because the only pictures I had ever seen of women in bathing suits were ones who had no lumps and bumps and stretch marks. Okay, world. You're telling me to cover up. I get it. You can turn your incredulous eyes away while I cover up again. Sorry I offended your idea of what my body should be.
There is nothing in this society that has told me that my body is acceptable. Not. One. Thing. It is fodder for criticism everywhere I turn. Wear something too revealing in your late thirties and you are judged. Wear something too baggy and frumpy and you are judged. Show it, hide it, live in it fat or skinny or somewhere in the middle, and you are judged.
Well, I want to come to a place in my life where I give less fucks about what the world thinks about my body. I can look hot at size 14 and size 4. I can push two kids out of my vagina and still have sex appeal, feel attractive and be attractive. I don't want to care if you, the world at large, find my body unacceptable in a two-piece bathing suit. I want to feel the sun on my skin. I want to look in the mirror and understand that my own skin is beautiful. It tells the story of my life. It shows me what I am capable of. It shows me that it can do a great many things if I treat it well, and will continue to be loyal to me to the end. So, shouldn't I love my own skin too? Shouldn't I tell the damn world it doesn't own my body, and that it is my gift? Shouldn't I stop criticizing every lump, bump, curve and mark (as the world is wont to do) and instead see if for what it is? It is a trophy. It is a story. It is a life lived and being lived.
So, here it is. This is my resolution. Stop finding myself unacceptable. Stop berating myself and let my skin breathe. Wear what I want, when I want. Be free of the constraints put on me, woman, by the world. You can't tell me I am not beautiful. It is not my fault if you look at me inappropriately. It is not my fault if you think I don't conform to the aesthetic this world believes in. Screw you.
Here's to starting to find my own skin acceptable. Only I get to decide that.
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