The strongest being that withstands much more than any man could ever comprehend.
On a daily basis.
And my struggles are not imagined but rather imposed by a society that attempts to fit, in the newsstands, a variety of body shapes into one prototype:
a 26-inch size waist, voluptuous breasts and bums, with hair iridescently shiny.
And what about the rest of us?
When we are constantly pressured to believe these standards are the wanted ones and our bodies are the wrong puzzle pieces.
How do we love ourselves then?
Many of us have managed to slowly remove the gangrenous roots out of our pretty little heads,
to begin accepting what a unique genetic composition we are.
To go against all beauty lessons we were taught.
And it isn’t easy, there are fallbacks
There are moments where a slight frigid comment regresses our progress to our brainwashed state of mind.
But for the sake of time, let’s say we’ve moved on.
I received my first bikini wax when I was 16, when I was young, naive, and easily corrupted. My teenage-hood wasn’t one that caused my parents headaches or involved nightly escapades to drink beer acquired from bums outside the local 7/11. I was relatively calm, confused, and enthralled by things most teenagers paid no mind to (holler in classic rock, magical realism literature, and British TV shows). But I did get my first bikini wax when I was 16.
I can’t remember the exact reasons why, but it probably had to do with the media molding me into looking a very unreachable idyllic way, one that I still fight with today (I’m winning the battle I promise!).
“A gender-equal society would be one where the word ‘gender’ does not exist: where everyone can be themselves.” -Gloria Steinem