This is sort of weird. You and I have had a turbulent relationship. For 20 years and 7 months, you have been my home, and you always will be. You contain my vital organs, you are the vessel that allows me to carry myself through life, and for that I am grateful. As a child, I don't remember looking at you the same way I do now. I was comfortable with you, I ran around in shorts and t-shirts, arms and legs flailing around without a care in the world. It wasn't until I was older, around 12 and I started attending more dance classes which older girls that I guess I became aware of how different bodies can be, although I wasn't aware of it at the time, I guess looking back that was probably what made me become aware of my own body. I watched girls extending their legs, feet tied into pointe shoes, muscles stretching and flexing as they moved across the floor. When I looked at myself in the mirror, in my leotard and tights, I didn't look the same. I was too tall, my ribs were too raised, my hips too wide, my thighs a little too close together. And I've always had ugly feet, the type that didn't feel worthy of those delicate ballet shoes.
I attended slimming classes, and the routine and results I found made me happy. As long as the numbers on the scales were going down, or staying the same, I felt more confident. When people started noticing that you were changing, places on you becoming slimmer and tighter, I felt a thrill like none other. But when I reached my target, I still wasn't happy with how you looked. Sure, losing weight had made me feel better momentarily, but it hadn't changed you. You can't change bone structure. My hips were still wide, sure I had a bridge of light coming through my thighs, but they were still thicker than I thought they should be. It didn't seem fair. I had worked hard, and you, Body, had let me down. Other girls had bodies that looked better and they weren't trying. How come I was trying, but still wasn't happy with you?
When I started to become more interested in fashion, I came to accept I could never wear the clothes I liked, because they didn't suit me. For four years, I didn't wear trousers. Instead, I chose skirts and dresses that skimmed over the tops of my thighs, hiding them from the non-existent scrutiny of my friends, in clothes that were probably better suited to someone ten years older. There were times I would take armfuls of clothes I loved into changing rooms, only to look at the reflection staring back at me and be so angrily disappointed at how I looked. Once again, you were ruining the ideas I had in my head. Even though I was an ideal weight, clothes hung limply from my waist, because I had to get the size up to fit my boobs and bum in. One day, I just got tired. I got a pair of jeans, I put you in them, and I didn't care anymore. I decided to see what I liked, and just ignore the parts I was bothered by. Well, that was my theory. There are still times when it's hard, and I feel like I want to change every part of you, but my acceptance of you is getting better.
I like my lips. They are soft, and warm in colour. I like my teeth, that are routinely praised by my dentist. I like my boobs that are soft, yet firm, and sit upon my ribs that I also like, because they protect my vital organs, and sculpt my waist, that I have learnt to appreciate. I have grown to love my hips that have given me my hourglass shape, and will one day aid me in being able to bear children of my own. Right now, there are parts about you I'm still not keen on, and that will probably always be an ongoing battle between us. But I am learning to appreciate you the way I appreciate the bodies that belong to other people, rather than critiquing you in a way I never see others.
Thank you, Body. For not once failing me, or breaking, or giving up. I'm sorry I can't appreciate you more, but know I am trying.
Megan x
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