clevermanka | It's the same word

There is a war on women in our society. Yes, there is. If you think there isn't, that systemic misogyny isn't a real thing, that women aren't an oppressed group, that things really aren't so bad for us, that we should be happy with the progress that we've made, and that we need to just settle down already geez, you can seriously GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY JOURNAL. I don't have the time or energy for that because I already spend too much of my time and energy FIGHTING OTHERS LIKE YOU EVERY DAY.

Okay, that said (whew!), here is a lighthearted but infuriating video clip that illustrates in two instances just how women and women's bodies are erased and/or objectified.

I had a realization a few days ago about bodies, body image, and how much I still care about how people perceive me. After I posted the thing about the creeps, 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 that very evening.

And just like that, I've 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. They aren't important to me, so why are their opinions? Answer: THEY AREN'T ANYMORE.

This is not to say I'm not continuing my efforts to relieve my abdominal swelling issues, 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.