It's taken me a long time to grow into my skin. To learn its dips and dimples, the texture I find on the tips of my fingers, the way it folds round my bones.
And whilst this body has always been mine and mine alone, it has felt too often like a process of reclaiming, taking back, prying out of someone else's hands and expectations.
"Attractive" is a complicated concept.
There is an innate desire to be found desirable, to be looked upon positively, to be accepted.
But possession often accompanies desire.
I want you, I want you, I want you.
I want you.
I want you to be mine.
You are attractive to me.
Too often I found myself claimed by those who found me attractive. Part of me revelled in the attention, the words of adoration, the eager touch and the way eyes flicked over me and stared. But there is a dependency in understanding your attraction only through those who speak it over you. And there is a tendency to shrink into the skin that you find yourself in, moulding into the shape they want you to be.
"In those jeans, wearing that tank top, in that dress, in that shirt."
"With that hair, that lipstick, decorated by those earrings."
That is when you are attractive.
And the reverse. This is when you are not.
Men have scared me this week, reminding me of countless others who have grabbed and pulled and clawed at the idea of my body. I thought I had come to a point of self-belief and strength where I know who I am and what I stand for - and what people can and cannot do to me. But words spoken, casually, so casually, cut me down. I realised that I was still the same, terrified, insecure girl who is desperate for acceptance, who can so easily be exposed and dissected by those who believe they have the right.
Sometimes I want to hold myself close, lose folds of fabric, jersey soft, spun round, encasing this body of mine.
But the space I take up and the shape I am is beautiful and powerful.
Navigating this world as a girl is tough. And I am white, slim, able bodied, and cis-gender. I cannot even begin to imagine the challenges facing those who are not.
It feels like a fight to own your body.
It feels like a fight to present yourself honestly.
If feels like a fight to justify how you move through the world.
It's taken me a long time to grow into my skin.
To grow into my skin.
I am strong and I have made friends with the girl I see in the mirror and I know that I am the only one who can speak truth over myself.
Even as the sound of others drowns out my voice.
And my body is all I have to navigate myself through this world. I cannot give it up or contort it into not taking up any room.
I will not shrink, I will not hide, I will not cover.
It's taken me a long time to grow into my skin.
And I will not stop growing. No matter what you say and how small it makes me feel.
