about damn time.

  At 12 years old I stood in front of my bathroom mirror. I stared at my skin and the purple squiggly lines running down my arms, legs, and hips. It was the summer right before junior high, and I had gained some weight. It was, by all accounts, a positive by-product from having a stable home and enough to eat.

When I asked my grandmother what the marks on my body were, the grim look on her face sealed my fate. “Estrilla’s,” she diagnosed. I had stretch marks. A superficial disease that would rob me of my self-esteem and result in a 24-year-long war with my body.

I spent my teens, twenties, and thirties cloaked under long sleeves and pants. The middle school baby weight I lost, but the marks didn’t go away. The voices screamed for me to layer on, to cover up. I tried it all: lotions, oils, and painful laser procedures that scorched the top layers of my skin. They all promised a new me but with each attempt, only disappointment and tears were delivered.

I felt less than, unlovable, and ugly.

This was waaay back then. Cell phones were barely becoming a thing, and social media was in its infancy stage. MTV was king, along with heroine chic, low-waist jeans, and the Atkins diet.

Sure, I had moments when the whispers were louder than the insecurities, and I’d realize I was more than this meat suit that housed my spirit, but it was short-lived. I’d spot a smooth arm or streak-less leg and back into hoodies I went. This continued for years….until today.

Times have changed. Social media has saved (or ruined depending on who you ask) our society. The queen is dead, and we have a new monarchy in charge. Her name is Ms. Melissa Viviane Jefferson, aka Lizzo. This flute-wielding goddess has given women all over the world the permission, we didn’t know we needed. The permission to be unapologetically ourselves.

So, is that it?

All you have to do is watch a woman prance around a stage playing a flute and years of insecurity melt away?

To be honest, I don’t know.

Maybe it is.

Maybe it’s not.

Maybe all we needed was someone to show us what self-love and body acceptance looked like.

I do know one thing though. I’m tired of wearing pants and hoodies when the temperature reaches 90 degrees (boo to The Valley!). I guess we’ll see next summer if when the sun comes out so do the buns. 

Magic & Love Always,

B.