My body matured fairly young. I was just on the cusp of middle school when I started grappling with living in the body of a woman, not a girl.
Sometimes I liked looking older, it felt like a disguise that I could wear that would allow adults to converse with me about real topics and feelings instead of just asking me how school was.
However I quickly felt trapped within my disguise, realizing that it was not just a costume but the start of the rest of my life. Looking more mature attracted a lot of negative attention to me. Older boys would flirt with me in a very intense and demanding way, and at the time I didn’t know what to do. I often would say nothing and just nod along to avoid the embarrassment of having to tell them my age.
I remember on several occasion I mumbled my age awkwardly and watched their eye pop, sometimes they walked away without saying anything. I hated these interactions, it made me feel like I was doing something horribly wrong, like I was falsely advertising.
Adults spent a lot of time attempting to cover me up “you’re too young for that, they’d say.
But what they meant was I was too young for my body, too young too love it, no, I had to hide it. I was frustrated that my own body was too sexual of a thing for me to own, it was like I was living inside an R rated movie that I wasn’t allowed to see. I was just supposed to cover my ears and block out the sound of perverse dialogue. I was supposed to block out myself.
I was even more frustrated that I had to dress differently in order to avoid harassment, it felt and still feels wrong to me that I have to “cover up” to command respect. I was the first of my friend group to be harassed on the street and I remember how hard it was to explain to someone how repulsive it feels. Explaining that hearing someone yell “hey beautiful” feels like having your stomach slashed open.
Yet after their remarks you have to keep walking, feeling raw and exposed and sometimes terrified, wondering if you could’ve prevented it. I remember being so angry when I was younger. I wanted to cut off my curves and hide them forever. I wanted to starve myself and force my body to wither away, I just wanted to look like my peers.
Like many women, I have had the most repulsive things crooned, yelled, and spat at me.
Each time I am “cat called” feel my soul sink, drowning in a pit of insecurities and anxieties.
Recently a man even waited for my boyfriend to be a couple steps ahead of me so that he could whisper how much he wanted me. This made me feel like a slice of meat, as if the two of them were wolves and I was a bloody piece of lamb he wanted to steal to chew himself.
Throughout the time since my body matured a lot of well intentioned women have told me to dress more modestly and I understand their points. Yes, if I wore looser clothes and more restricting sports bras I might avoid a lot of the situations that I am forced into. However I have tried changing the way I dress and act, I’ve toned down my energy, attempted to give off a less “flirty vibe” and all it’s done is make me feel defeated and trapped.
So I’m saying screw it.
My curves are not an excuse for you to call me slut or to degrade me, my level of modesty does not define my self worth or mean I am “damaged,” and I am most certainly not going to smile for you on command. I am a powerful and resilient young woman, and no matter how you think I dress or how you feel I should present myself to the world please respect my decisions. Please respect every woman’s decision.
Because we all just trying to figure ourselves out. Trying to love our bodies and feel confident in whatever it is we are choosing to wear. Whether that be to wear short shorts and a crop top on a hot day, or a Burqini to the beach. Everyone deserves to feel comfortable in whatever they choose to wear, and I for one am not apologizing for my body.
