Letter to the Daughters...My Body

Dear Daughter and All the Daughters,
 
Let’s talk about the body, about the female form and what it represents to us. It is our house, our home, the shell in which we plant our soul and pray for psychic rain to help us grow. It is the flesh that begets life, that sustains life after it’s born, and that nurtures with warmth and softness. Our body is our song to the world that tells the story of where we have been and where we are going, and it is uniquely, beautifully ours, and should be ours alone to behold.
 
Our body has become a symbol, a representative that ignores the feminine magic we carry inside. We no longer own our image, but have become part of a relentless cycle that whispers that we have no value unless the physical form reaches perfection for those who degrade its mysticism. We are told from our youth that women should look and be like unattainable visions that ignore the grace of our life experience. We are told that if we just lose 10 pounds, or 20, or workout daily to sculpt ourselves into something more palatable to others, we will be worthy of affection and interest. There is always a condition attached that creates the mental equation of if I do X, Y, or Z, THEN, and only THEN, will we obtain the secret resolution to unlocking value, and the imperfect abstract known as love.
 
Recently, I had a man on a dating app remark ‘pretty, but I still haven’t seen your body though.” Can I share how this statement took my confidence and slammed it on the ground in one swift motion? Suddenly, without my physical carriage, I was not enough. It was not enough that I am quick witted, highly intelligent, and funny. Not enough that I have a successful career, have raised four of the most beautiful people this planet has ever seen, can kill it on the dance floor, and write like words run through my veins. Not enough that I have impeccable taste in music, believe heavily in altruism, and love those I love with ferocity. How despite, all that I am, the one thing that he would hang his feelings of worthiness on was my body. MY BODY.
 
We cannot have this conversation without discussing the fact that for most women, their bodies are not a home where they feel safe. When only 12% of sexual abuse is reported, when 63% of sexual assaults stay unreported, and one in five women are sexually assaulted in college, the notion of the body as something comfortable to share becomes an abstract notion. How could the body feel like a place where you can open the door and welcome a stranger? How can you possibly share something that may have been violated, or damaged, because you owned such a body to begin with? When 2 out of 3 women are struggle with their weight and image issues, how can the body ever feel like anything more than a body of judgement?
 
When I read those words, I sat with them for several minutes. I no longer felt secure. I became the five-year old me again, fending off the advances of a teenage babysitter who merely wanted to ‘peek down my shirt’ because he was curious. I became the woman who lived through the indignity of sexual assault in my twenties, when it took me a year to stop the overwhelming feeling I had inherently done something that I couldn’t explain to attractive such a horrendous experience. Had I dressed too suggestively in my capris and a casual t-shirt? Did I say or do anything that indicated that I wanted him to touch and violate me? That noted self-blame is perpetuated with that same mental equation: if I did X, Y, or Z, then this would have never happened. Except that it did, because we have so degraded the body of women that there has been little we could do to stem the tide of men who feel that we are theirs for the taking.
 
I once again became the insecure, heavy girl in the room that I have been most of my life, and whom was teased relentlessly as such. I felt my insides crumble, and all the self-assurance I work so hard to pump into my being by being so many other things than just my body, ran straight out of my heart and collected in a puddle on the floor. I felt a mixture of inadequacy and violation that shook me to the core. For a second, I actually pondered, should I send something and risk the dreaded rejection that I will not be enough? Why do I even feel I have to do that?
 
But then I felt anger. Pure, white hot rage that caught fire to that puddle of self-assurance and fueled it into a phoenix screaming, “fuck this shit”. I thought who the hell do you think you are, that you are entitled to any parts of myself that I have not offered on my own. How dare anyone ask me for any piece of who I am without my permission? This is my body, my home, my shell, my place of refuge. You have just become an uninvited guest who thought he could walk right in without having to knock. Hell no.
 
So daughter, this was my response:
“So seeing my body is a requirement for whether or not you feel I might be worthy of attention? My requirements are intellect, depth, and that you’re generally not a dick. You’re failing on most fronts so I think we’re done here.”
 
I didn’t owe him a damn thing, and neither do you. There is no psychic debt floating through the universe that says we are obliged to indulge those who insist certain physical expectations should be more lauded than the hearts and souls we tend with loving care. There is no requirement that states that your body, your home, your sanctuary need be anything other than what you want it to be and love it be. There is nothing that exists that transfers the rights to your haven to anyone unless you, and you alone, decide that you willingly want to share it.
 
The Tinder man’s final reply was that ‘those who have nothing to hide, hide nothing.” But it’s never about hiding anything. It is about vulnerability, self-love, and recognizing that the body merely houses all the essential, beautiful parts that are truly worth our attention and affection. It is about knowing who to let in the door, and who to block at the entrance. Because you, my gorgeous, amazing daughter, are a temple of the highest beautiful and grace, and deserve to welcome no one who will worship you for less than the total of who you are. You have every right to hide yourself from those who would do damage to your grace, and to determine for yourself what boundaries you place around those who gain entrance to any part of who you are, be it corporeal or intangible.
 
Cherish yourself for the goddess you are. I know, through your eyes, I am learning to do the same.
 
All my love...