I always feel encouraged when I see bodies that look like mine: unapologetic and chubby. After I had been sexually assaulted, I gained weight unconsciously, just as my body was starting to lose its baby fat. I was awkwardly thin in some places, while awkwardly bulky elsewhere. But as I gained weight, my body evened itself out and though I had in some secret part of me hoped it would make the boys stop looking, it didn't quite work. I've never grown out of it, no matter how many sports or hours at the gym. I think now, with my realized PCOS, that this was the way my body was always meant to be: soft and unashamed.
I always feel encouraged when I see bodies that look like mine: muscled and still feminine. I played a multitude of sports for years: soccer, softball, gymnastics, basketball. I did Karate, cheerleading, and danced every morning in heels. My calves are muscled and proud from years of running and control. Even a year ago, I felt embarrassed by my less-than-ladylike calves, even knowing that some people would go under the knife to achieve the look I've accidentally perfected. But now, I accept them and love them. They're just another part of who I am.
What I've found with body image and acceptance is that the only person who should care about my body to any capacity, is me. And the only person I should try to please with it, is myself. At the end of the day, if I feel beautiful, I'm just that. If anyone has a problem with my body, it isn't a reflection of who I am or my value (or my body's value), but it's a reflection of their insecurities.
If I'm not one person's ideal of beauty, I can guarantee you I am someone else's. I can give you names and numbers of guys and girls who find me ridiculously gorgeous. And I can give you names and numbers of guys and girls who would pass, because I'm not their cup of tea. More importantly though, I can say with conviction that I am my cup of tea. I love my body. I love my stretchmarks and tummy; I love my full breasts and sloping hips; I love my long fingers and delicate hands; I love my thighs and everything attached to them.
I'm not ashamed of this body or the things it does for me.
All bodies are good bodies. All bodies are beautiful bodies. They harbor the most important parts of who we are: our hearts, our minds, our souls. And for that alone, they are the most magnificent things in the universe. Infinitely beautiful and sacred and, just wow! How often do we appreciate our bodies for what they are and what they do, as opposed to how they look?
My nose has a slight bump. It reminds me of my grandmother and the same bump she had, but it also reminds me of my father's side of the family and the obvious family heritage. My hair is a frizzy mess most days, but it matches my spirit. I think my eyes are too small for my face, but almost everyone I know has commented at least once about how beautiful they are (or more accurately, that they are the most beautiful and expressive eyes they've ever seen). I think my lips are too thin, but they have this beautiful natural pink color to them and with them, I'm able to smile (so I could never really dislike them!). I have an overbite that not even braces could correct, but my smile is genuine despite it.
I've been told I'm perfect-- too beautiful and that by that simple virtue, too good. I've also been harassed for my body until I've cried from the pressure of it all. I eat healthily, I suffer from PCOS, and I don't work out as much as I'd like to... I'm perpetually chubby and soft and how been compared to pin-ups. But I've also been made to feel ugly and unappealing to everyone, because I'm soft and chubby.
I love myself.
I love every flaw and imperfection.
I love every curve, every pudge, every muscle.
And I accept myself. Wantonly, fully, without apology and without any other persons permission.
