learning to love my bits

when I was younger and just learning to be self-conscious, I despised this mole. its uncommonness I thought made it ugly, and I remember going so far as to sew fabric into a bikini to cover it up. now it’s one of those details I love on me, a lowkey distinguishing characteristic and something to say you’re looking at when it’s actually my braless boobs. if you’re nice I will almost always pretend to believe you.⁣
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there isn’t a woman I know, myself included, who couldn’t immediately rattle off five things about her body she doesn’t like. I wish we’d spend more time appreciating five things we do. or even two – can you stand in front of the mirror, as the remarkable adrienne maree brown reminded me, and find one thing to love, and then one thing more? your inner critic may try to usurp the exercise, but there’s an upside – if energy that fierce in us exists, it can be redirected for kinder purposes. stay with yourself until you can home in on something to feel good about and relinquish the idea that there are only a handful of body parts worth enjoying. get hyperspecific if you want; maybe you have phenomenal elbows! appreciate the spot people miss. appreciate the spot YOU miss.⁣
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I won’t pretend this will miraculously change a lifetime of being at war with our bodies, but is it not a start? being trained to pick ourselves apart is a patriarchal weapon. it serves to keep us small, deep in our not-enoughness. it’s some real horseshit. I’m laughing at myself as I write this because I am still wildly addicted to external validation (hello, THIS PICTURE). but at 36, I’m trying to care what I think of myself more, moles and all.⁣
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when I was young I also longed for a smaller butt – lmao – and a chest big enough to warrant a bra. now you can’t pay me to wear one (people have tried). life! what a trip.