I forgot, me, myself and I. 

I forgot the body means 

the best of being you

 and it’s a vessel of your awesomeness.

-unknown

There’s a memory I recollect from December 2020, the memory of watching my hair fall from my head and how it felt like a check-in on me — a needed reality check. It finally showed me what my whole body was and is: A home. 

My body is my first home, the very shell of my existence, and who I am is nothing without it encapsulating my essence. I began life neglecting the image of my body in every story and adventure I created. It was like I knew my head and heart better than I knew my body. As I sat in the barber’s chair getting my low-cut, all I could hear was my sister's comments and mocking laughter behind me. Everything she said, I could see. From the roundness of my face to the ugliness of my skin. In that silent moment, I wished I hadn’t cut my hair and wished I didn’t look as fat as she said I did. As things unfolded, I mentally compared myself with so many ‘acceptable’ bodies and I struggled with the truth of being self-loathing and comparative — the opposite of how I’d want anybody to feel about themselves, myself included. 

The truth is, we all have a lot to learn and a lot to accept of ourselves — including our inner and surface beauty. But, the process of acceptance happens while the world is praising a body that’s essentially the opposite of ours. It’s another invisible scar that’s not supposed to affect us, yet it does and it’s harder to heal from. I’ve always known society to have a standard, but cutting my hair made that more obvious. I wanted to be a part of the standard so badly — since being plus size did no justice to vindicate me out of every harsh subject of physical appearance. I couldn’t find the strength to do so and it hurt me. It hurt me because I thought my sister was right: maybe I did let myself go; maybe I didn’t take care of myself well enough; maybe if I didn’t forget to take care of my body she wouldn’t have had anything to joke about at the barber’s — even though my dad said countless times that I was beautiful and my haircut fit me. There were just so many maybes and maybes that kept humbling me, triggering past memories of pick-ons and comments. Maybes full of pain from my body’s neglect and the flashbacks where I believed people could only see me if I had some love interest going for me — so I could be more than just fat. To me, he would have been my hero, the one who freed me from the claws of society. He would have been the one to help open society’s eyes to see that my body also mattered, even if I knew society would somehow still throw slanders because it would have been our slander — not just mine to face alone. He’d have made me strong; I would have felt real and noticed, but without him, my world spun greatly and was empty without confidence. I led my thoughts to conjure and love a man to love me in my sadness, not realizing that every amazing feeling of conjuring the perfect man — his height, his body, his manners, you know a character that you don’t expect to build to be so much in the first instance — was for him to love my body like he’d make my heart and mind feel in the relationship: loved, respected and safe! And not only because I wanted society to see me beyond that ‘Orobo girl’ (big girl). 

“…words are still open theories that can change, make, and break you.”

On that chair in the barber’s,  I realized those words from my sister were only hurting and destroying my body because I allowed them to. I realized I had been losing weight from starving and controlling how I ate, but it was never enough to keep the hurtful words out. It was a roller coaster of what to do, who to be, how to eat, don’t look at me, why can’t I be — nothing was working for me until I became nonchalant about how I dressed and how I looked because whatever I wore, I’d never receive compliments. I’d be the fat girl in a dress, the fat girl in a skirt, the fat shapeless girl in red — what I’d be is FAT. These things brought me into greater isolation and unappreciation of my body until I could no longer look at myself in the mirror. 

On that chair, I began to see how much of myself I had let fall asleep, and my sister's words woke me up to the truth of myself as I asked internally why she’d agree with my dad about me being beautiful and good-looking in a low-cut but still made fun of me. I have no idea how long I had spent going through various thought transformations from crawling under a table to being more than just my size and taking care of my body, finally realizing that words are still open theories that can change, make, and break you. Taking that leap to cut my hair showed me more of myself to accept and hold onto rather than want anyone else to do it for me. In confidence, I told myself that Being Big wasn’t less of me even in a low-cut and it’s not like cutting my hair meant goodbye — it was the perfect hello to recreate myself into the real me my body needed: self-loving and complimentary. I am not thinking of getting rid of a body I can nurture and instead I’m focusing on it through loving and being selfish from head to toe. I should walk and dine with my confidence and sexiness as they are moments that breathe the fire of excitement with a carefree attitude.  I should no longer hold love for fantasy like it’s all I need. I should no longer crave another being as much as I crave the thrill of loving and welcoming my body like a Queen. 

“I’m the seed of my future.”

And when I’m in tears over the voices that laugh and shame me? I should hear myself and stand by me, slowly and patiently acknowledging that my size doesn’t limit me from anything and I should encourage, acknowledge, and forgive myself for wishing for a different body — especially in all those maybes and wishes. It’s honestly not easy, but I’m walking there because of Here (myself) and Where (my journey). I’m beginning to love and adore my body from head to toe — I’m selfish for my body and enjoy the extra jiggle in my step, I’m aware of how soft to the touch I am, light as raindrops with captivating eyes, smoking hot and ready to compel while my innocence softens its misguided blows. I’m careful of what I feed to my body and take from it both positive and negative — if I feel like grabbing a full plate I do and if I don’t, I don’t. I do not forget my daily water intake because I’m the plant that needs to grow. I’m the seed of my future. I believe in myself and will do what’s right for me by adorning, adoring, and accepting this sanctuary like I would anybody else’s. 

My body, my home…