I Was A Goddess In Sheep’s Clothing By Casey Croxford
I see myself as a pretty politically aware, intelligent, independent, capable, liberated woman. But there is one thing in the back of my mind that has been quietly creeping to the forefront, clouding my self-worth: Body image.
Somehow, I have become preoccupied with the fantasy of having the “perfect body”. This is something that doesn’t matter to my family, it doesn’t affect world peace, it does not help the fight for equal rights, it has no bearing on the newest election to the Supreme Court, and yet it is naggingly close to the most prevalent thought in my mind.....
“What can I do today to make myself more attractive?”
Who exactly do I want to be more attractive to?
My husband tells me how sexy and beautiful I am practically every hour of every day.
Yet I feel like I don’t measure up.
At 26 years old after having given birth to three healthy boys I should be proud of my body and all of the powerful things it can and will do for me, let alone the things it already has!
I preach body acceptance, and tell people to read “The Beauty Myth” and “Fat! So?”
I have taught every woman in my family to reject Fatphobia.
I claim to wear my stretch marks as badges of honor, proof of my womanhood and all of the glorious changes that my body has accomplished while bringing my children into the world.
But I can’t seem to practice what I preach.
And it’s not just me. Every woman I know has these same issues.
These are incredible women! Women who do good work, who go out into the world and make a difference for other women and for children and the human family in general. These women should be proud, not ashamed of themselves.
I don’t know a single man who feels less than adequate due to their bulging beer belly, because nobody cares. We don’t invalidate men because of the number on their scale.
But we do it to women.
I don’t like it, and I am going to stop adding to this sick self-hatred that we as women all seem to share.
Today I put an end to it and embrace my curves. If deep down, that horrid voice still whispers a wicked depressed thought wrought with self-loathing every now and then, I promise to at least try and “fake it till I make it”. I will love my body. It is my temple, a house of worship, and some might say it is the Promised Land. I will hold my head up high above these wide German hips. These stretch marked thighs, and this little belly that birthing babies has left me with will no longer define me. I am more than what you see.
I am a Woman, a Mother, a Lover, a Fighter, an Activist, a Writer, an Artist, a Teacher, a Student, and a Goddess, and I will not apologize or be ashamed.