I shared this letter I got from radikalchick in time for International Women's Day. You can go to the album here. And I wanted to share this here.
I still struggle to think about beauty and my body. And I've written about it so many times in the blog. There have been so many conversations (in my head and with other people.) It's closely tied to being a woman, and that is really something you have to live through to be able to talk about. Especially when the common references do not exist or are so muddled—I'm not married, I'm not in a relationship or having sex, I lost my mother to breast cancer, so being a heavy, dark-skinned woman with curly hair means you don't fit in so many ways.
I only now understand what it means to not own your body (the republican impulse to get into the american women's uterus is an extreme,) my government's own refusal to pass the reproductive health bill is the same thing. Also what exactly magazines have truly done to what I think is beautiful. Or how we are allowed but not allowed to really even SEE our bodies does quite literally fuck us up.
What is most difficult to navigate really is the realm of love and sex, especially when there is a fine line between banter and sexual harassment. One makes you feel young and alive, the other vaguely disregarded and just made null. Like a dull ache you can't seem to convince people is there unless they've experienced it, too.
A sense of humor does help, but also a real sense of self. One that can't be taken away by words or the lack of it.
Don't worry, we'll talk about make-up tomorrow. I have tons to tell y'all. Kisses. Booty bump!
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