My Body: A Prosessay

I trudge through the murky uncertainty of adulthood, wondering if the stretch marks, the freckles, and the keratosis bumps will attract or repel desire. I lack the curves of the goddesses in paintings and statues, it would feel more like holding a wooden pole rather than a woman’s body. My face is not soft enough in bone structure to be held like an animal in need of care. Now, after losing weight there is not enough meat on my bones to feed any hungry human. I can carry a heavy weight but, to be honest, I was always carrying the heavy weight of low self-worth. Am I still worthy enough for even a gentle hand?

I wished that I had the body of my other sisters. Thin but a bit of a curve, hardy enough to work but could never mistake her for a man. Even at my heaviest no one really saw my “womanliness.” I question the gender dichotomies but I always wanted to be considered a woman even when femininity did not fit me. I tried to squeeze into a form that was considered “one-size-fits-all” but I am still suffocating. I thought that the image of “woman” became more flexible, it still had a strictness I could not comprehend. Am I a woman even though my shoulder cannot bear all the weight?

When I was at my heaviest I thought my body was too much for the majority, Not many positives to it to outweigh the negatives. Even when I was full, I still did not feel like a woman. I felt like a box, and I was inside that box for a long time fearing to peek out and express joy in sensation. Any pair of lustful hands that reached for me I reeled back in suspicion, cringing at their interest in me. Any kiss felt like a trap into becoming someone’s disposable toy. Am I an empty vessel for your temporary high or a temple where you go to worship?

These sound like the woes of a former fat-woman and they are, I did not decide to eat healthier to get thin but I still get comments about how much weight I lost. I feel better and I certainly sleep through the nights but the days where I am aware of eyes on me is when I know my real place in this culture. The hesitation still makes me concede that no matter how far I have to “love myself”, there will be many more miles left and it will never end. I cannot grasp what “self-love” is supposed to feel like as it is.

I know my body will go through changes and I know that society hates female bodies that go with the seasons of age. I am in my early 30’s but I am struggling to reach that “peak” that everyone talks about. I am fighting between the love I want and what I do not deserve. I fear the disappointment in the truths I tell more than the mirage of my lies. My craving for attention never was fully satisfied in either childhood and early adulthood. The dull pain of neglect is more familiar than the warm embrace of trust. I am back into the void of confusion.

Will I ever escape?