When I was much much younger my mother would pinch my nose between her fingers and tell the story of how much smaller it was when I was a baby. She would explain to people (I was just a prop) how she had hoped it would be small and thin like hers, but alas it turned out fatter. I know that this must have been her way of mourning a part of me that didn't look like her but to me it seemed like criticism of my fat nose.
When I was 16 I naively asked my boyfriend if there was anything he would change about me. We were cuddling on the couch at his parents' house and I was hoping for an affirmation of my awesomeness. Instead I got a comment on my too small (for him) boobs and a list of physical features that would improve my looks (my sisters were used as examples of perfect this and that).
When I was 21 or 22, the boy I thought I was in love with asked me why I didn't get my hair straightened or my nails professionally done. My hair then was a study in not giving a fuck. Twists one day, hot combed the next, afro the day after next; whatever I felt like really. I gave myself manicures with little flower drawings and uneven finishing. I was 'weird'. His word. He thought my weirdness was cute, just not enough to love me in public. So we kissed in the dark, had dates in places his friends wouldn't be and then he went back to the girlfriend that was popular and more mainstream (long ass perm, manicured/pedicured, eyebrows tweezed beautiful).
The point (or non point) of this mini ramble is that people have had different expectations of what I should look like (too thin then, too fat now, I should tame my kinky hair, have it plaited or straightened or something), how I should act (I am too reserved, I should speak more, be more social) what I should be doing with my life blah blah.
I wish I could say that it doesn't bother me anymore (in truth it bothers me much less than it used to), but it does. I am still insecure about what I look like and how people perceive my actions or non actions. My jealousies will come knocking when I see my boyfriend maybe stare at a girl with permed hair (my little kinky afro is still some ways from bad assness). I cry when I don't fit in clothes that used to slide comfortably over my (non) hips. I flinch when my sisters touch my wobbly tummy or pinch my rolls. Getting ready in the morning is a see-saw of pleasure and grimaces from shower to mirror. Being in social situations is usually headache inducing, I tend to cling to my friends and make no new ones.
I still struggle with accepting who I am now. I would like to think that being with a guy who thinks I am beautiful the way I am means that I have found some measure of acceptance. The fact that he is not asking me to change in any way must mean something, right? (Or am I again putting too much stock into what he thinks and not what I feel?) His words must carry some echo of feelings that are mirrored in my mind. What is that cliche thingy again? You'll only be able to accept the love of others once you learn to love yourself or something like that.
He loves me. Kinky hair, fuller figure, reclusiveness, antisocial, scarred and all. He thinks I am wonderful. I have to agree, right?
2 comments:
Oh! I wish love and acceptance of one's self was sold in a bottle. :-/ Actually, given away free of charge! Like air!
Bloody people and their comments.
To Lucifer's abode with people and their stoopid expectations.
So we're flawed and drink way too much Coke and have really failed at the art of making new friends...that much. We're too comfy with all things old& familiar and hanging out translates to Coke, meat and intoxicant binges at Tuhaise's( I MISSS HER, BTW)...but we're okay with that, and so should the peeps who want to be in our lives.
I love you, Els...afro, Red-Indian hairband(hihi)and what-not.
F the rest of the world. The ones who matter adore you. And wouldn't know how to deal with a made-over-to-please-what's-their-faces-you.
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