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I Call Bullshit !
By Melissa, Guest Writer |Email| |
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When did I become that girl that allowed a number to define me? But that is what I have done these past months. I count points in my little “point notebook” everyday and then get on the dreaded scale once every week – OK, that is a lie – at least once a day, and am either elated or thoroughly depressed at the results – being that little number on the screen of my hi-tech LCD readout scale.
When other things seem out of control, we as women, seem to hold onto the one thing that we can wield some power over. |
Our bodies. Every outside influence, every magazine, T.V. show, movie telling us that we should somehow be different; thinner, bigger breasts, smaller ass. And we constantly compare ourselves to the other women around us, whether on the street or in the media.
We deny ourselves, thinking that there is some power in that – if we are hungry and our jeans fit a little looser, we must be doing something right, right?
I have now decided that I need to, no, I MUST call Bullshit.
The fact is that I am a woman of 32 years. I now have hips and thighs and an ass that has some weight to it. My waist is a little thicker than it was 5 years ago. And I have fought the fact that I am no longer the size 0 that I once was, I have beaten myself up for it on a regular and disturbingly constant basis. Bullshit! There is no power in hunger or denying oneself that which it must have to be sustained. There is no strength in that. There is strength in raising our children the best way we know how. There is strength in being the best friends and sisters that we can be. There is strength in giving that power to our friends and children when they cannot find in themselves. We are rocks, women, we give birth to the young men and women that will set the stage for this world when we are long gone.
What do I teach my young son and nephew if I am constantly saying that I am fat? What will I teach my young niece, if she is to always see me counting calories and trying to smooth down parts of myself? It will only go to teach them that it is better that a woman be less, close to invisible if she can manage it. With my recent example, I am telling them that women should be small, they should not be noticed. And now, again, I call bullshit.
I have put the scale in the trash. I know what I feel like when I am healthy and when I am not. I do not need a number to tell me how good I look or how I should feel. And I will no longer let my sense of worth be determined by that number and more so, I will not set the example for the young ones that look up to me, that women need to be ruled by that number.
And as I got out of the shower tonight, I looked at my body and saw that, no; I am not a stick thin figure. I am beautiful; I am a woman with all my curves and lines. There is no magic way to just suddenly stop wishing that I was little bit more here and little bit less there. It will be a process, something that I must remind myself of everyday. But I know that there is softness so that my son has somewhere to lay his head when he cries and there is strength beyond belief when I need to fight for him. There is no number that can define that.
- Melissa -
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