My body betrayed me. My body story is rooted in childhood sexual abuse, which to this day is as present under my skin as my veins. I have cowered in my body just as easily as I have strutted in it, filled with remorse and shame over my appearance and experience, and determined to slough it off and be a confident woman. I have struggled to find the balance, or to just nix my negative opinions about myself. On my first day of second grade I was deemed "the fat girl". I wasn't fat. But I instantly became Violet Beauregarde-minus the blueberry coloring, a feeling that has never left me. At 45, I still refer to myself as The Fat Girl.
I want to wear something besides shame. I often feel brilliant, sexy, confident. And then I remember what I look like, and the change in me is immediate. I shut down, I stop smiling, laughing-I don't want my chubby cheeks to reveal to the world that I have a potato face. I want my body story to be of acceptance. Of confidence no matter the situation, no matter who I am with, no matter what I look like.
I am more forgiving of my imperfections. I realize my body has done phenomenal things, and I remind myself of this. I had the flesh eating bacteria and survived. That alone is miraculous. Just because I am not a model does not mean I am not beautiful. And just because I am not beautiful does not mean I am not a model!
-- Cy
Portraits of Cy by Katherine Emery