There are about one thousand things I don’t like about my body. No actually things I hate! I was battling with carrying some idea of kindness in my words. That battle lost to my desperation to narrate only the truth. So yes, one thousand things I hate.
When I think about them I wonder if it was intentional? If the devil stood next to God and tested me like he did on Job when my body was being crafted. Or it’s all a part of God’s plan. It’s even harder to accept a compliment, because then I start to think about why my arms and face are darker than the rest of my body. Why I’m not as light as my hands are. Why my thighs are a size 14 yet my waist fits snuggly in a 12. Why my tummy is bigger than my lower back…You know what I mean, right? Why are my arms flabby and thick? Why I still have baby fat on my cheeks? And my fingers are all crooked in some way?
After I have thought about all this, I get dressed. Rarely do I experiment with style or color. Comfort is my thing. I walk out and I pray to God that my body isn’t the first thing one notices when they see or interact with me. I have mastered very well a way to disguise my insecurities, although I have failed ridiculously at maintaining the lady posture. Chin high, tummy tucked, shoulders straight and walking with that swing in the hips. it’s as though my own body refuses to corporate with me in my plight to be a master decepticon, even just for boosting my confidence.
Sometimes though, I’m just tired. Too tired to care, too tired to notice. The vanity disappears and I dwindle into a figurative oblivious structure. On such a day as this I count my blessings. I thank God for the responsive nature that is my skin, which at the exposure of his precious light turns my face and arms to a golden brown, that my whole body becomes a camouflage, a manifestation of His wonder works. I thank Him that the food I love so much finds a permanent home in my abdomen and we are united for life, that had it not been for these thunder thighs I’d never find a perfect fit in the bottoms which also coincidentally hugs my touche and transforms it to a cutie. I think about how after 20 years from date my face will never sell out how really old I’d have become, and for that I’d remain ageless. I think of all my imperfections, count them one by one, and I find joy in them, because I never want to grow old, and I was made short enough to be lost in a group of high school students, chubby enough to always be 16. The gift of my imperfections is a gift of an ageless beauty, and for that I’m truly grateful.