Mar. 21st, 2014

clevermanka: default (ass2)
I had a realization a few days ago about bodies, body image, and how much I still care about how people perceive me. After a particularly frustrating encounter with a run-of-the-mill creep who thought I should be flattered by his attraction to me and his query about my ethnic heritage, I was struck with the realization that my frustration-anger-despair over my wobbly midsection was totally and completely dependent on what people like that (i.e. douchebags) think of me. I have been beating myself up for years (YEARS!) over the opinion of utter and complete jerks. The people who matter to me, who love me, whom I think are awesome--they don't care that I'm carrying an extra couple inches around my middle. They don't care that my thighs rub when I walk or that I have to wear bloomers or buy that anti-chafing stuff if I want to comfortably walk around in a dress on a really hot day. They don't care. Who does care? Who does care that my upper arms are not perfectly smooth and lean? Who does care that my belly is soft and hangs over the top of my jeans? DOUCHEBAGS. Douchebags care about those things.

It took me thirty-some years to internalize the knowledge that I've been caring about the opinion of douchebags in regards to my own body. WHAT A FUCKING WASTE.

In a glorious circumstance of serendipity, this post showed up on my Tumblr dash the very evening I had this epiphany.

And just like that, I decided no more. I don't fucking care about douchebag opinions of my body. I don't fucking care if they think I shouldn't be wearing these jeans or that dress or this bathing suit. Fuck them. Those people aren't important to me, so why are their opinions? Answer: THEY AREN'T ANYMORE.

This is not to say I'm quitting my efforts to relieve my continuing health problems, one of which is abnormally exaggerated abdominal swelling, because that shit is uncomfortable and physically exhausting and I'll be honest, it is a pain in the ass (also logistically difficult) to maintain a stylish and professional wardrobe that appeals to me in two different sizes. It's unfortunate, but I just don't like stretch pants or elastic waistbands enough to live in them every day.

But am I going to allow the opinions of people I actively dislike to determine how I feel about the shape of my body?

Fuck no. No. Not anymore. Not ever again.


clevermanka: default (Default)

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