I have kept a journal since I was 10. I still have a box of them up in my closet, filled and hardly cracked open, but there. Years of personal thoughts and growth and conflict and feelings and breakthroughs scrawled on musty papers with edges curling up.
I don’t know why I keep them, really, but there is something that feels almost sacred about the unedited version of me that is kept within those pages.
When I write in those books, with my own hand on physical paper, I don’t edit. I don’t pause to rephrase a sentence because maybe it is a little “too much” or doesn’t fit in with my “voice”. It is a therapy session, a brain dump, a place to put the deep feelings that I have stuffed down again and again.
It is prayer.
I usually write before bed, and I always feel lighter afterward.
Growing up, I learned to hide feelings at a very young age. I distinctly remember watching a girl who seemed to be afraid of everything and cried at the slightest upsetting, and I did not want to be her. I wanted to be brave, strong, shake things off – like a boy. I had older brothers and most of my friends were boys and I always wanted to be tough, I was out to prove something.
That toughness also taught me an unhealthy way to manage those deep feelings, because I didn’t realize that I was as sensitive as I am – I just coped by de-sensitizing. It is easier to just not feel those big feelings.
Sometimes when I write, I am saying nothing at all. It is just words being spewed onto a page, but once in a while, a piece of truth can be spotted within all of the chunks.
“So much of my personal value hinges on how I feel about my body.”
A lot of this has to do specifically with how thin or thick I feel.
It is true that when I nourish my body with the right foods and movement and rest, I do feel amazing and confident and like I can do anything and feel happy and beautiful and content. And when I eat junk and laze about I begin to feel ill and my spirit dampens and I am not as kind or gentle with myself or others.
But, my value?
That I am no longer a valuable human being if I feel bloated or fat or red or splotchy or dimply or wiggly or hairy or large?
I have had an interesting journey throughout my life of learning what it means to be a woman, have a body, live in that body, compare that body, be OK with that body, take care of and nourish that body, and even begin to love that body.
We all have individual experiences of this, and I’m certain mine is not 100% unique to myself, but it has taken me nearly 30 years to peel away all the lies I’ve been told and have told myself about my body and embrace it for the exquisite, breathtaking, strong and unique gift it is.
I can say now that I love my body. But, I also struggle to not worry so much about the way others perceive it.
And I learn to stuff it. Way. Down. There. Where no one can find it or know about it. Hidden beneath layers and pages and stuffed within words that no one will ever read where it is safe and I don’t have to look at it and deal with it. I can just console myself when I feel bad about myself by believing my choices and feelings are wrapped up in my inherent value so I am off the hook to take responsibility and do better, guilting myself to change.
But, looks don’t really matter – right?
That’s what we say. This is a superficial feeling that shouldn’t be validated. I do agree to an extent – no one should feel like or be treated as less or more because of the way they look.
But we are all looking for love and acceptance. We all want to feel attractive – although I know that at times, I have felt resigned to simply accept my unattractiveness to the point where my self-esteem was crumpled up and I lost so much of who I was it took years to rebuild it.
I wish every young girl, adolescent, woman could hear their worth spoken over them again and again and again.
And it is why I try to be so mindful about what I say to my daughter about her body, my own, and others. How I act when I look into the mirror. Because the lies are pervasive and it is so easy to let them sink into our bones and filter our worth into only what we see in the mirror.