So I'm sure most of us have felt unhappy with our bodies at some point or another. I wonder if you can pinpoint the moment it all began.
For me it all began in sixth grade. The end of sixth grade to be specific. I was sitting in the auditorium at rehearsal for "graduation" and we were all alphabetized and nervous and excited when the boy sitting next to me felt the need to say, "Wow, you have really big legs!"
Now I know that kids are cruel and all of that. I also won't pretend that all of my problems can be blamed on a sixth grader, it's just a little strange that this moment is burned into my brain: one exact moment when I discovered I wasn't perfect.
I was raised in a home where we were taught that "if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." Well, we were taught that but of course growing up as one of four kids, you hear occasionally that your odor is less than appealing or your face resembles the dogs' behind, but overall...
Here's the weird thing: in sixth grade, I wasn't even overweight. I was always comfortable with my appearance because nobody had ever given me a reason to feel otherwise. It's cliche-ish, but why do we feel that we need to package everyone into the same little mold? My dad likes to say that if you put two kids in a sandbox, they'll play. They don't care about skin color or religious affiliation, they just want you to share the bucket and shovel. So are we taught to judge people? How? And how can it be avoided?
Ooh, something else. I've got a weird nose. I never knew it was weird until somebody told me, "You've got a weird nose." And I was reeeealy self-conscious about it until I discovered that it's not weird, it's my dads. (Sorry, Dad, you've got a weird nose.) And now I like it.
So I'm wondering when you discovered you weren't perfect. Or maybe you ARE perfect. Let's chat, best beloved.
Me and my dad and our noses. I'm okay with that.