Dress code violations have captured my attention. Every day it seems there is a new sweet girl being sent home for:
Shirts too short
Or simply just daring to own the female adult form.
So I was reading this one and it was about this gorgeous young woman whose dress violated dress code. The article had pictures. My first thought, “That dress accentuates her love handles.”
W….T….FUCK. Yep. I thought that. And then I got so angry at myself for being stupid and small. And then I got so angry for the oppression of woman being so big. So big that it has programmed me to judge woman if there is a little extra flesh. Judge them if they show it. Harshly judge them if they flaunt it. How dare they… go out in to this world and not be:
Covering any flaws
And I am angry. And what I realize now, is sexism is going nowhere. Why? It is an industry. We rely on women to feel small and insecure. We rely on women to feel their self worth is defined by their size, hair, beauty. Sexism has not only been institutionalized it has been commoditized.
So why would/should men care. I am going to bottom line it for you. You should care because your sex life is suffering. Big time.
I can still remember the first time making out with some sweet boy and he placed his hand on my belly. I panicked. Not because I did not want to negotiate where that hand had intentions of going. No… because he had his hand on my BELLY. What if it was too soft? What if he stopped liking me? What if… I stopped being good enough?
And this stays will me still. As my sweet husband wraps his arms around my midsection, I instinctively pull his hand up and away. He has seen me naked. He has seen me give birth to two healthy children. He has seen the stretch marks and loose skin. But it is a raw insecurity that I cannot quell. What if he feels my flesh and stops loving me.
So instinctively I learned to navigate intimacy the way a quarterback navigates opposition, Duck, move, distract, dazzle. But never, ever surrender to the moment.
How many times have I “been too tired, “ “tomorrow,” “just cuddle me” over the lack of desire to feel a need to keep my body and all it secrets hidden. Did I shave my legs? Is it a fat day?
And it is a shame. I was not meant to be a quarterback. I was meant to be a lioness. I was meant to devour you and roar in delight, leaving you breathy and confused.
But I block. I worry. I negotiate. Always distracted from the moment. No roaring lioness. A meek kitten at best.
Simply to sell me one more pill, spanx, push up bra, lighter, highlighter, bronzer, eyeliner, mascara, perfume, deodorant, hairspray.
Simply because me just being a women was not enough.
Or too much.