[My extended hiatus has been due to the beginning of the school year. Also, most of my time has been devoted to creating this seminar called Girls Run the World: Encouraging political activism in young women. It will take place at UC in October :) it has been a lot of sweat and late nights getting it all together but I am busting at the seams with excitement.]
As a feminist and teenage girl in the 21 century I am not ignorant to the fact that my body image is majorly screwed up by the media. I’ve read the books and I have seen the documentaries. I understand the whole “media’s portrayal of women is unrealistic and controlled by the desires of men ” deal. When I open Teen Vogue (reality check: I haven’t opened a Teen Vogue in 5 years) I am 95% sure that I will not see anyone I can relate to, my body shape or my skin color.
|A brief summary of my childhood above|
When I was an uncomfortable tween in my aeropostle and knock off crocs I vividly remember how Seventeen magazine would hand pick outfits for your specific body type. (Sidenote- I was completely obsessed with Seventeen needless to say we all make mistakes.) I always went to the “curvy girl” section. Every time it was the same advice, “loose fitting tops that accentuate your waist and camouflage problem spots” and “wide leg dark wash jeans to slim your legs ” etc. From a young age I was taught to not wear certain things because of my weight. Because of my size I was inferior. We are all programmed to think a certain way about our bodies. We are programmed to think that our weight determines our self-worth and beauty.
|This looks eerily familiar.|
But that is not the meaning of today’s post. I actually want to tell you all about my thighs, the beauty and complexity that inhabits my legs. I was just in the shower listening to ABBA while attempting to forget about my stressful day and the inhumane amount of homework I had waiting for me when I was suddenly consumed by the enormity which is my thighs. Well, it wasn’t necessarily suddenly it wasn’t like I looked down and screamed as if for the first time recognizing my size 16 thighs. It was more like a gradual encounter culminating in a final shock. After I got out of the shower I attempted to study Spanish but I was unable to concentrate.
My thoughts were consumed with my thighs. Who knew one part of the body could cause such contemplation? I saw a life lesson in my thighs that I must share with you. I know I am supposed to love my body. Eve Ensler would be yelling at me for even questioning my beauty and self-worth. But sometimes knowing it just isn’t enough. Sometimes I get sad and angry. Sometimes I cry when I look in the mirror (I must not be the only one… right?). Usually dancing in the mirror to Dancing Queen or reading a few chapters of Catcher in the Rye is a quick solution but sometimes it isn’t. As a continued to gaze at my thighs I realized one thing, knowing is much harder than doing.
|My thighs make a classy appearance in black leggings... simply elegance.|
I know I should love my body. I know I should respect my body. I know I shouldn’t let my weight define my self-worth.
I know all these things but sometimes I still cannot love myself.
So therefore world I am on a mission to love my body; my arms, my stomach and my thighs.
I will look in the mirror and love what I see. I will adore my thighs because they are perfect the way they are. Sometimes you have to stop talking the talk and learn how to walk the walk (who doesn’t love a good cliché closing line).
*there is an instagram community of women on a mission to love their bodies I follow @honorcurves