My body is changing. I’ve talked about it before.
It’s confusing, disorienting…scary.
I can’t hide my boobs anymore, because they’ve grown too much.
I have massive cleavage in a sports bra.
My hips and thighs are bigger, rounder, more curvy.
My body is growing into more of a “woman” shape than I would like it to, personally.
Feeling like my body is betraying who I really am isn’t unusual for me. It’s been doing that since I started having periods.
It’s easy to hate myself right now – to hate my shape, my weight….
To hate it in the night when I can’t get to sleep because my boobs are in the way, and my bones and muscles are unsure of how to hold all the sudden…extra that occurred, leaving bright stretch marks and dull aches in it’s wake.
It’s easy to hate it when I have to re-learn how to use my body, because my belly is softer and rounder, my skin rolls, my thighs are bigger, and I generally take up more space than I’m used to.
More space than I ever have.
It’s easy to hate it when I feel like I have to be small, invisible, and take no room because I’m not worth having space.
It’s easy to hate because I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to be growing, physically, changing sizes. Even as a child my growth spurts were few and far between. I was 3’6″ until I was nearly 10. I was always underweight, and my mom made a point to note how even at barely 100 pounds and age 16, I was bigger than she was at my age.
I don’t know how to be okay with letting my body be.
And I don’t think many other people do either.
We’re socialized to hate it. To hate it because we take up space, and people who were assigned female at birth are also trained from birth not to take up space.
I went to the doctor the other day, because having a period means I need Women’s Wellness Exams.
Anything related to periods and uteri and….general having the ability to reproduce tends to trigger a beautiful dysphoria fun time.
Easiest time to hate myself…easiest time to hate my body.
I was weighed for the first time since before I moved, and they didn’t tell me my weight when I told them I wasn’t looking, and they didn’t judge.
But my weight was on the take-home paper, along with proof that I have a heartbeat and blood pressure.
I’m 162 pounds.
I weigh more than I was told (lied to) that my father weighs, more than my mom thinks she weighs when she’s pregnant….
And for the first time that knowledge didn’t bother me.
For a moment I had the realization….
I’m 162 pounds of awesome, and that’s perfect.
Hillary Rain started Lush Folk and is doing 7 Days of Tenderness and the timing is good, because moments pass and it’s easy to hate myself. But it’s beautiful to be reminded that I’m allowed space, I require space, and I don’t need to feel guilty for taking it up. I should own it, and so should you.
Right now I’m in a good place.
I am 162 pounds of star stuff and magic and fairy dust and awesome. I take up space and that’s actually good. I’m worth space, I’m worth taking care of myself, I’m worth having clothes that fit and not trying to squish my changing body into clothes that are the size I think I should be.
I’m healthy and alive and perfect.
And so are you.