By Isabella McCall
Black Girl, Brown Girl, Latina, Asian, Pacific, Native American, White, Beautiful Big Girls. Don’t you know you’re a work of art? Tall girl, Short girl, Big Hips, Big Thighs, Small Breasts, Big Breasts, Tummy, Tummy, Fupa. Bread basket, Hawaiian rolls, Love Handles, don’t you know you were molded with Hands made of Unconditional Love? Hands that weaved each strand of hair? Black, Blonde, Ginger, Brunette, or the Color of the Rainbow? Curly, Coily, Wavy, Straight, Thick or Thin, Short, Long, or chosen to cover cause, darling, you’re Sacred. You got a natural veil flowing in the air; you’ve been valuable from the moment you touched down on the earth.
But no one ever told you that; no one ever said that. Let’s be honest; I know it hurts. I may not know who you are or your life story; I don’t even need to know that. I don’t care if you’re young or old, but I’ve been there, and I don’t think anyone is a stranger to the condemning eye of Society. It found me to be imperfect, too big, unhealthy, and ugly.
We were silent; we were innocent; we didn’t know better when we thought straight bangs looked normal when really ordinary was burning those pretty curls—beating our tummies to be flat, starving ourselves to try and lose weight faster. When darling, this society doesn’t know what unhealthy is. Even if they are confused by what “Fat” is, you can be tall, fully curved, big-breasted with a flat or pudgy belly, the beautiful portrait of health. Yet, how can you let a scale determine how beautiful you are? It’s nonsense, if I’m being honest.
We’re an angry community, a tired group, a fed-up band of girls and people so tired of being told what to be. Social media is no help—think about it—it makes no sense how a million opinions can shape a person. How does a single, tiny, metal box of code and light suddenly dictate our lives? Let’s get back to the basics, put the phone down, shut it off, and throw it in your drawer. Sit on the floor, sit on the grass, and breathe in the air. Inhale what is natural, breathe back what is good, exhale what is toxic, and banish away what ruins your body, soul, and mind.
Examine and take in everything through your mirror, more than just looking at each part of your vessel. What do you see? What do you wish to see? How do you see yourself? Your vessel, your body, is your canvas, painted on by another, but in reality, it is a gift. It is yours and yours alone. You are art in the Louvre Museum, an Aphrodite, Marylin Monroe, Mona Lisa, a frozen figure in the middle of a marble room for all to admire. A spotlight could shine above you, and an audience would applaud you. But you don’t hear the applause and hooting praises. No, Brava! Encore! A Beauty! A goddess of our time.
No, instead, you hear words that are meaningless. Meaningless words that you give strength to, fattening the ugly creature when you should’ve starved it. Fatty, Lard, Tubby, Ugly, and Embarrassing. Or the backhanded insults manipulated to become a compliment.
“You’re pretty for a Black/Fat girl.”
Pretty. Pretty? Who gave them the right to tell me—to tell you what or who you're allowed to be Pretty for? No, we are not pretty—we are beautiful, we are ethereal, we are mystical, we are women, we are people! There is nothing wrong with us, there is nothing wrong with you, and you are not meant to be hidden away because they’re too ashamed to see your sculpted, soft form in public.
We are no embarrassment; we are certainly no mistake, and if you ask me, being overwhelming is a compliment. Yes, I overwhelm the space, any space I step into, because I am here, a living, breathing continuation of all the beautiful women before me! As well as you, you dear, are allowed to be overwhelming and take up as much space. You never have to apologize for it, don’t ever; this is for you and never for them.
They don’t seem to realize that you and I are needed; they seem to have forgotten that the same Hands that made you made you to complete this weird cycle called life. You are life, you breathe it, and you push it with all its screaming pain! We, You and I belong here, with all our curves, our hair, our veils, breasts, legs, buttocks, and hips. Darling, your body is armor—sturdy and hard—beautiful under the bright afternoon sun.
Yet, I know sometimes your strength gives in. The dents, rust, and scratches—I know you feel broken—they have damaged you with their words for way too long. Oh beautiful statue, oh lovely woman, oh great human being, cracks riddle your body. I know there are days you wish to crumble and not pick up your pieces. Sometimes you have to, and sometimes you don’t; it’s ok to lay with your brokenness and look at your fragments. But that doesn’t mean you get to stay there forever; you are not meant to stay broken. What is broken can be fixed, it doesn’t mean the marks will ever fade, but the unfading marks are your newfound strength. Gold fills the deep cracks, gluing you back together and standing you back up on your feet. It does not negate your beauty; it enhances it. It is still you, the you they thought they could destroy, but you just came back stronger.
Beautiful Girls, Ethereal Women, Magical People, The Living Work Of Art. I hope this reminds you of your worth, I hope it helps you discover your worth, and I hope it makes you proud of yourself. I hope you repeat these words to yourself, these quotes, and phrases. Say it in the mirror, say it clothed, say it bare, say it with a smile, or say it with tears.
Hug your body, love your body, love it old, or love it new. Love it soft or love it hard, just love you. Always remember to love yourself, be gentle, and be understanding with yourself because I promise you it takes a lot of time, but it is worth it. You are worth it, you are more precious than any material in the world, and no one can ever show you that.
Some people would say to feel beautiful; you need to be loved. That their love will make you believe in the worth of your beauty. If you are reading this and you are young, don’t believe that. If you are reading this and you’re older, I hope you don’t believe this. And if you don’t, if you are wise and have learned to love that girl or person who struggled to love and is just starting to love yourself—I am glad.
Let me leave you with this: There is no greater love than the love you have for yourself. No matter how you do it, love yourself gently and patiently; only you truly determine the worth of your beauty.
With Love,
A Forgotten Beauty
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