Body Negativity

I noticed the new stretch marks a few months ago. Once I saw them in the mirror, I thought I could feel my skin ripping apart for the next few days. I knew it couldn’t be true, but I somehow felt it or at least feared it so much that I believed it to be true.

There has been tremendous pressure (on me and, perhaps, on you too) to achieve an external-facing image of health by engaging in self-destructive habits. Most of my influences have likely experienced moderate to severe body image issues. This has been normalized to me and compounded by a media presence with pervasive bias toward misogynistic industry practices.

My body image issues are part of my inheritance. It comes with the territory. I cannot divorce my childhood, family, friendships, or even education from body image. All are intertwined.

I understand now that I have to choose. Women in my situation are destined to perpetuate generational patterns of self-hatred unless they change.

I did not consider myself someone capable of such a change. Now, I might. I want to resolve my body image issues and self-loathing. I don’t want the diluted self-love message broadcast on morning television in between celebrity interviews and the weather. I don’t want self-care packages sold from disgruntled middle managers who repurpose their business degrees to import face masks in the name of entrepreneurship. I don’t want carefully curated “candid” selfies that strategically show off skin as a self-promotional rebuff to the beauty industry.

I want to actually respect myself. It doesn’t seem like a glamorous task. There are probably not many face masks that can help with this goal.

I see women perform all the time: tying to pretend they care so much more than anyone else or, conversely, trying to pretend they care less than you could ever imagine. I don’t want to perform. I want to be.

Eventually, the show must come to an end anyway. You can act perfectly through all the parts or maybe just glide and stumble and jump around the stage. Have some fun. Have a good cry and an unsatisfying cry and a jarring scream. Maybe, I’ll see you out there: living instead of performing.