Today, I realized that I loved myself. Now, let me love you.
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| My teddy bear and I in our own band: Brandabear. |
"Love yourself. Know your own beauty. Be confident in who you are."
How many times has someone casually thrown that type of advice to you? As if it was a simple notion, this "loving youself" business. Through my own body image struggles, I was quite often given this advice and more often frustrated by it. It's like giving someone nothing but a canoe, dropping them in a mega-fast river and saying, "Paddle against the current, duh."
GIANT NEWSFLASH: Life is not so easy, so why are we giving easy advice?
Because easy advice doesn't require connecting with another person. Easy doesn't require vulnerability. Easy doesn't give you a hug when you need it most. Easy is hiding in your room and underneath the covers.
Theodore Roosevelt
I used to lament that loving myself didn't come easily, but now I realize that it was worth the hard work. Today, I realized that I loved myself.
But, before today comes many painful yesterdays.
To be quite frank, my body image problems are a result of sexual abuse, a broken society, and an attempt to reclaim the control in my life by turning all my hatred on myself.
I was sexually abused when I was much younger when I still lived with my biological father, who was not careful enough with the people he left me with. 1 in 4 girls have been sexually abused by the age of 18 (source: here) and this is a very sad statistic. I used to be afraid to speak out about my experiences, but I've begun to realize that sharing my story has helped me to heal.
What do you do when this happens? You keep it to yourself. And I did that until I was about 16, which is the first time I told someone that it had happened. By then, I had already become increasingly aware that society was telling me that my social worth was defined by my appearance. What was a girl to do? I spent hours refusing to look at my legs, because I was disgusted by them. I wore jeans during the summertime, because I couldn't bare to be seen in shorts. The times that I did, I was constantly berating myself with hateful messages. I also felt dirty and ashamed, feelings that many survivors hang on to.
I didn't feel like I was worth anything. I had a great family. I had great grades. I had a sparkling (outward) personality and lots of amazing friends, but I was broken on the inside. I didn't feel like I was worthy of love. It was easy to turn hatred inward, because I didn't feel like I deserved anything else. It was a destructive attempt to control my life.
Society had told me I wasn't good enough. My past taught me I wasn't pure enough. Nothing seemed to be able to erase the suffering that I clung onto. How could I ever love myself?
The same people who were giving me the "easy" advice were also the ones pushing me back every step of the way. I remember being in 9th grade when our health teacher wanted to do an activity. She told us to pick an adjective to describes ourselves and go around the room. I was so excited, because I knew exactly what adjective I wanted to say!
"Quirky!" I exclaimed proudly.
She told me to pick another adjective because that wasn't good enough. What do you mean it wasn't good enough? I picked it! I'm QUIRKY, lady.
Society teaches us that we are seemingly not in charge of our own identities. You can be a lot of different things, but never yourself.
Well, I'm calling BULLSHIT on all of that. I am myself and I'm not sorry, not one bit. I do what I do because I like it.
It has taken me 20 years to do it, but today, I realized that I loved myself.
This journey has been hard. I've cried many tears and felt so much pain, but the beautiful thing about all those emotions is they've made the joy I now feel so worth it.
Now, let me love you!
But, before today comes many painful yesterdays.
To be quite frank, my body image problems are a result of sexual abuse, a broken society, and an attempt to reclaim the control in my life by turning all my hatred on myself.
I was sexually abused when I was much younger when I still lived with my biological father, who was not careful enough with the people he left me with. 1 in 4 girls have been sexually abused by the age of 18 (source: here) and this is a very sad statistic. I used to be afraid to speak out about my experiences, but I've begun to realize that sharing my story has helped me to heal.
What do you do when this happens? You keep it to yourself. And I did that until I was about 16, which is the first time I told someone that it had happened. By then, I had already become increasingly aware that society was telling me that my social worth was defined by my appearance. What was a girl to do? I spent hours refusing to look at my legs, because I was disgusted by them. I wore jeans during the summertime, because I couldn't bare to be seen in shorts. The times that I did, I was constantly berating myself with hateful messages. I also felt dirty and ashamed, feelings that many survivors hang on to.
I didn't feel like I was worth anything. I had a great family. I had great grades. I had a sparkling (outward) personality and lots of amazing friends, but I was broken on the inside. I didn't feel like I was worthy of love. It was easy to turn hatred inward, because I didn't feel like I deserved anything else. It was a destructive attempt to control my life.
Society had told me I wasn't good enough. My past taught me I wasn't pure enough. Nothing seemed to be able to erase the suffering that I clung onto. How could I ever love myself?
The same people who were giving me the "easy" advice were also the ones pushing me back every step of the way. I remember being in 9th grade when our health teacher wanted to do an activity. She told us to pick an adjective to describes ourselves and go around the room. I was so excited, because I knew exactly what adjective I wanted to say!
"Quirky!" I exclaimed proudly.
She told me to pick another adjective because that wasn't good enough. What do you mean it wasn't good enough? I picked it! I'm QUIRKY, lady.
Society teaches us that we are seemingly not in charge of our own identities. You can be a lot of different things, but never yourself.
Well, I'm calling BULLSHIT on all of that. I am myself and I'm not sorry, not one bit. I do what I do because I like it.
It has taken me 20 years to do it, but today, I realized that I loved myself.
This journey has been hard. I've cried many tears and felt so much pain, but the beautiful thing about all those emotions is they've made the joy I now feel so worth it.
Now, let me love you!
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My new inspiration board! |
I spent the night doing something crafty. Say hello to my new inspiration board! I have a flower posted underneath the Photo Shoots section for every girl I've done a shoot with, so far. The Love Letters section is full of the letters that Girl Warriors have written me at meetings.
To be quite honest, I love all of you. Yes, really. I see the hurt in your eyes and I've known it all my life. We are going to work on loving ourselves together. Girl Warrior is a community.
It is my goal to reach out to every girl and let her know that she is beautiful. Babes, it is hard BUT it is worth it. You are worth it.
I want to help you.
Let me love you.
XOXO
Girl Warrior
P.S. Please consider donating financially or with your own story to Girl Warrior: The Magazine! Read all about it HERE.
To be quite honest, I love all of you. Yes, really. I see the hurt in your eyes and I've known it all my life. We are going to work on loving ourselves together. Girl Warrior is a community.
It is my goal to reach out to every girl and let her know that she is beautiful. Babes, it is hard BUT it is worth it. You are worth it.
I want to help you.
Let me love you.
XOXO
Girl Warrior
P.S. Please consider donating financially or with your own story to Girl Warrior: The Magazine! Read all about it HERE.
Here's something great I read recently: "I understand the impulse to comfort, but part of being an ally...is learning how to sit with someone's pain rather than try to assuage it, which can often come off as invalidating or minimizing of their experiences."
ReplyDeleteAs I was reading this article, it really struck me that it is so much easier for most (of us!) to be glib when someone confides their pain or discomfort or sadness about whatever than it is to say, "That is shitty for you and I'm sorry." Period, end of sentence. I think the only other thing that I love to hear people say when I tell of my sorrows is, "How can I help?" That and "I'm sorry you're dealing with that." is all I really need.
Great article.