My body is my own.
To own my body, this rough collection of parts, and shapes, and curves, is a radical act. The world always wants to own women’s bodies. They cannot have mine. I fought, spoke out, and claimed my body back from my assignment, the hormones that had ravaged it, and a defeated attitude of “I can’t”.
My body is tall.
I grew up with a mother over 6 feet, and knew I would be anything but petite. I wear “tall girl” like a badge. I choose to not slump or hide, but to stand strong and resist the implication that women’s bodies need always shrink like a violet. The demands of the world will weigh heavy, but I can withstand them, standing close to the other tall girls.
My body is unique.
Intimacy begins with a discussion. This is my body, this is how it works, and this is what I like. I define my sexual impulses, and consent to the acts I choose. My partners eyes tell a story, but I help make edits through words, touch, and sound. Together we weave a tale of strength; we weave a tale of the particular power of a woman’s empowered sexuality, and bodily autonomy.
My body is valuable.
I hold my body in esteem. I may only get the one, and I will be thankful, and treat it as well as I know how. There were times where I and others thought my body was a nothing, and mistake. I was wrong, and I tell myself that my body is right. It has form, and substance, and the materials that comprise it are just the beginning of the value that stretches to the depth I develop through self-care.
My body is changing.
As my cells die and regrow, as I age, my body is different from day to day. To love my body is to love the tide. I shift, and move, and ripples flow outwards to the space near me. I change other bodies and places as I am changed by them.
My body takes up space.
I am aware, through years of hiding and fearing just how much space my body takes up. I interrogate this space. I hope to learn from others daily how to take up space as a woman. I will not collapse into a point, a singularity. I will flow through the world and be part of it. Women’s spaces are my spaces. Trans spaces are my spaces. Workplace, library, civic sphere. I will participate and exist. I will be seen, in ways that are good, and ways that are painful.
My body is healing.
There was a time where I felt the pain of years of not feeling ok. This scabbed over, and new skin is growing, and I am learning how to enjoy the pleasure of freshness.
My body is my own.
To own my body, this rough collection of parts, and shapes, and curves, is a radical act. The world always wants to own women’s bodies. They cannot have mine. I fought, spoke out, and claimed my body back from my assignment, the hormones that had ravaged it, and knowledge and heritage denied.