So I have this thing with my body. It’s almost like a girlfriend – you know, the one that’s there but annoys the hell out of you sometimes.
Growing up, into adolescence I was always self conscious. I had the worst acne in the class and I struggled trying to fit in. I liked certain parts of my body but not all. I liked my flat tummy and hands. I had a big butt and it didn’t fit the Eurocentric ideals of the country I lived in. You see, I come from a country that celebrated “skinny.” But the skinny ideal had different levels and I didn’t fit in any. Or I didn’t feel like I fit into any.
Fast forward to college then to full blown responsible adult mode, I pretty much came to terms with what my body looked like and who I was. That all shattered after becoming a mother. The metamorphosis of who I was to who I am now is still a process. I wanted so badly to get back to the body I once had. But I also had to give up on the pressure and ideals of “the snap back” because that ideal made me miserable. And my love alone read and wine just couldn’t leave me alone, haha!
I’m at the stage where I’m happy with my post baby body. I no longer do my nails because it gets in the way of muddy puddles and washing the walls of my house because my toddler feels artistic. I no longer loath my little belly because it created a safe haven for my two healthy babies. And anything on my face now can be covered with makeup – if I feel unearthing my inner supermodel.
The Eurocentric ideal doesn’t belong to me and was never for me. I realize that now. I’m a thick thighed, curvy African who is happy being just that.