“A culture fixated on female thinness is not an obsession about female beauty, [it is] an obsession about female obedience. Dieting is the most potent political sedative in women’s history; a quietly mad population is a tractable one.” 

—Naomi Wolf

(Source: tabularasae)

Dear Belly,

It’s been so long since I looked you in the eyes and said I love you. And meant it. Since you were 14, with purpley-red tiger stripes decorating your plumpest parts, I did everything I could to hide you. Shame you. Keep you out of the sun. I’m sure that didn’t feel very good. Bound and confined, lathered in creams that boasted promises of changing your appearance, sucked in, covered up, neglected. And it wasn’t just my affection that I kept from you. I would flinch at the thought of a lover or friend touching you. Even when they lavished affirmation upon your shape, told me how beautiful you made me, even when I knew you would be safe in their hands. I’m sure all you wanted was to be seen. Held. Acknowledged. Maybe even adored.

In years past, I’ve brought you on brightly lit stages with me. Gestured to you as I preached about BodyLove from a poet’s mic. Spoken to friends and strangers and family about my struggle to know you and want you as my own. By the end of that two and a half minute performance, I call you “Beautiful. Sexy. Perfect.” and most nights, I believe those three words. But what I don’t say to the audience is that those two and a half minutes is almost all I can handle with you resting in my fingers. Most days.

About a week ago, I sat in bed on my computer late at night, kind of like tonight. I found myself shopping for you online. I saw this black and white striped frame on another belly, one who resembled your fullness, your brownness. I thought she was stunning and graceful and brave and I decided to adorn you. Put you on display. Show you off. Today, it arrived in my mailbox. I let you try it on. I asked your number one fan what he thought. He said you were “Beautiful. Sexy. Perfect.” He said more than that. You believed him. He was right.

I know that tonight doesn’t even begin to make up for the past 15 years of disregard. But, hopefully you’ll accept it as the beginning of my amends. It’ll be a living amends. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m listening to you to learn what will make it right. I’ll cradle you to sleep tonight. I’ll feed you well tomorrow. I’ll take you on walks and make you cups of peppermint tea. And when it’s sunny out, I’ll bring you outside to make new friends and perhaps even go for a swim.

You will glow.

Love,

Marita Isabel

(5 May 2012)