I think I’m pretty. Is that a weird thing to say? Well, I do. When I look in the mirror, unless there is a blemish on my hard-earned baby smooth face, I’m generally happy with what I see. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that the most important thing is to love yourself, for everything you are. But lately I’ve been wondering – are we conditioned to like ourselves? Essentially, thinking we like ourselves, when that like is only based on what we’ve been conditioned to believe from others. We think it’s because of our evolved and higher selves, that we don’t care what others think, but maybe we genuinely believe we don’t when we do? I sound crazy, right? Yes, I took my meds today.
Hear me out. There were certain facts I knew growing up, thanks to my mother. I had beautifully shaped eyebrows. I had little but perfect bow lips. My nail beds were a naturally good shape. If I lost ten, twenty, thirty pounds, boys would totally be into me. I knew I was pretty. And I knew I was fat. I also knew that my physical worth and confidence were directly correlated to what boys thought of me. My mother wasn’t cruel about it: “your curves are so sexy, your waist is so small… just imagine how you’d look if you lost fifteen pounds.” Instead of being a butter face I was a butter body.
I’m currently at the heaviest I’ve ever been. I’m so up and down all the time; I don’t even know how to think of my body anymore because it’s never the same. I can’t count on it. A few days ago someone stopped me on West End Avenue and asked, “Are you a plus size model?” I was so flattered. But kind of insulted. I hated that I went to a negative place so quickly. Should I be insulted? What’s wrong with being plus sized? Why can’t I just accept the compliment in the way it was intended? Why am I still thinking about what this person said?
Funnily enough, at this weight, I’ve had more male attention than ever before. The girl that was too fat to be noticed by boys is now crawling with men. And they all say the same thing: “I love your body.” So naturally I’ve been looking in the mirror in a different way lately. I clearly am deserving of male attention even if I’m not thin. Should I like this body? If I like it, is it only because men do?
I used to think that I was genuinely perfect, except for my weight. For real. I know, I’m legit the worst; if I lost weight I’d be perfect. As I develop mature friendships and learn about myself through others, I know I can be mean and selfish and quick to anger and bad with money, and if you ask my close friends, a million other things.
So do I even like myself? What is it based on? I like my eyebrows. On a list of things I like about myself I did in therapy, I accidentally wrote eyebrows twice. I like my laugh. I like that I am a reader. I like that I travel. I like that I make time for my family. I like my lips even though they’re a little too small. I like that I took care of my mother as she died. I like my skin. A cast member at Sephora just told me she rarely meets people who know their skin as well as I do. I’m gonna hold onto that one for a while.
I like my curves. I like that my butt is big. I like my body. Right? Should it matter if it’s from male attention or not? Isn’t it good to just feel positive about my image? Why does this bother me so much? I clearly think I’m a feminist hero and as Lena Dunham puts it, “the voice of my generation”, so I’m supposed to like myself regardless. Dress for myself. Love my body like a temple made of Nutella. Good, now I’m failing the feminist agenda. Good, now I’m upset for subscribing to that kind of thought, as feminism comes in a million different thoughts and values. Good, now I’m upset because I’m upset.
My therapist had one thing to say to this unraveling: be kind to yourself, give yourself permission to like yourself. Oh, ok. Cool. So easy. I legit don’t know how to do that, and it’s something we’re working on.
Do you guys have any thoughts on this subject matter? I’d love to hear back!
justdepressedblog 