When my father told my brother we were a family of early bloomers, I didn’t realize that applied to me too.
In the fifth grade I received mother nature’s call, in the sixth grade my chest began to grow, and by the seventh grade, my hips had grown wide- before it became an asset (no pun intended).
But as my body developed fast, my metabolism slowed.
In the sixth grade I felt incredibly fat when my friends compared weights and I was a whopping 135. At 13, I felt ugly when I put on pants that were size 10.
Later, my biggest size would be a 17.
I had a hard time finding boots that fit over my wide, naturally muscular calves. Any structured shirt or blazer with padded shoulders made me look intimidatingly, and almost hilariously, buff.
My crush sat next to me in alphabetical order in gym class, and I was so embarrassed by my strong-looking legs that I once sat on them for 20 minutes. Just so he wouldn’t see me for what I was.
I hated shopping for pants, but I hated skirts just as much. They looked so wrong on my thick frame.
When I went through my tomboy phase, I resented my body further. I always asked for extra-large shirts and I wore them, nearly dresses, to cover the curves on my body. Too curvy to be a tomboy, too muscular to be feminine.
I may have sprouted early, but I wasn’t an early bloomer.
When you grow up hating your own body, you become insecure in a way where you become blind to to your own, unique beauty.
