Yesterday I was looking at a photo from when I was younger than I am now (which isn’t very old) and I caught myself in a thought. A thought that said – Wow I used to be so skinny, now I’m a plus size. I wish I could go back to that, maybe I should start going to the gym again, or eating different… and so on. It went on for so long, that I almost forgot to question myself about it completely. Almost.
When I did realise the irrationality of it all, my brain flooded me all at once. Why would I expect my 20-year-old body to look like my 16-year-old body? Am I expecting to look this way for the rest of my life? Why, on looking at those photographs, did I see weight and not health? Or happiness? Why, of all the things I could measure myself on from my past, did I choose weight?
I may be the only person who has ever thought that thought, but I think it is much more likely that we all have, at some point, in some shape or form had the exact feeling I feel now. At first, I mourned my old body. Parts that used to be a part of you and used to conform to those beauty ideals so dang well.
But… everything was smaller somehow. Including me.
Once I realised that, I stopped mourning my sixteen-year-old self pretty damn soon and so should you.
That hot mess can stay in the past, thanks. Plus size, really ?!
I feed my body what it wants, what it needs, when it needs it. This apparent plus size is MY size, and why should I regret the way it’s changed and grown? Why would we choose young bodies that no longer fill our needs, no longer nourish us, over the a-m-a-z-i-n-g figures we each carry now?
Girl (and boys), I don’t even have to see it to believe it. You are damn scrumptious! I looked out at all the beautiful, voluptuous women I can see before me so easily (on social media and in real life) and I’m a little bit peeved, and down-right frustrated that I didn’t see it from the first second.
Bodies! Change! Folks! Plus size? Plus what?!
Women’s bodies especially are straight up miraculous. We literally grow life. And look how yummy so many mummies are. In old Greek culture, and even before that into the Stone Age – the depictions of women that remain are ones that celebrate the body that has grown from small, youthful prettiness, to womanly glory.
Whether you’re a mamma or not, being a woman is being the literal depiction of ethereal.
Stretch marks won’t change that.
In fact, they add to it.
Our bodies grow to match the love we pour into the world. Plus size that!
First, the love for yourself. Second, wait – you guessed it - it’s more love for yourself. And finally, love for others. You wouldn’t stunt a tree because it grows too tall, would you? Of course not. Like us scrumptious beings – trees have places to be and sunlight to reach for.
So yes, hot hell, look at your body the way you would look at a tree. Feed it, water it, nurture it, cheer it the fuck on! YOU deserve to go as high as you can, grow to take up as much space as you can or want.
Those stretch marks on your tummy? That’s a damn sweet way to show what love looks like. The way your thighs jiggle when you dance? I ain’t never seen passion expressed better. Saggy boobs? That’s a right important part of you being hella beautiful. Because they’re yours! They’ve grown into your bod for a damn important reason. They’ve done so much, so why shouldn’t you treat them with love and body scrub and all the food you could ever possibly crave?? Your body is always going to grow and change for your needs, and we shouldn’t ever look back and wish for an old form. That would be like looking back and wishing we were monkeys and not humans (although tbh, I’ll take grooming and bananas over this damn diet culture any day).
So, in 10 years, when my body is going to be very different from now and so is yours, I’m not going to look back. I’m going to be happy and look excitedly for more changes to come.