Body Image

On the Playlist: A Little More You by Little Big Town

I had no idea what to write for my first blog post.

Should I introduce myself? Should I introduce my writing? Should I discuss an element of writing? Should I review a book? What’s important? What’s interesting? What should I do?

Lucky for me, other YA blogs directed me to Kristin Otts' post about body image, which included a challenge to post a picture of yourself without makeup, fancy hair, or beautiful clothes.

That was when all the aforementioned questions disappeared; the choice was obvious. This topic means too much to me to ignore.

I got a book when I was ten that asked me to answer questions about myself: Who do I like? What do I want to do when I grow up? How would I rate my hair? Only as I write this am I noticing how weird it is that I was asked to rate an aspect of my appearance. That never shocked me; our culture constantly asks us to rate ourselves. Are we pretty enough, are we thin enough?

What shocked me was that I gave my hair a ten. When I hit 12, when I hit puberty, when I hit junior high, any confidence I had disappeared. My hair was ugly. My teeth were ugly. My face was ugly. I was ugly. These beliefs controlled my life, and I wish that was an exaggeration.

They didn’t go away quickly, either. Sure, some days were better than others, but the beliefs were always there. I’m 18 now; I graduated from high school last June. When I saw my graduation photos, I cried. So, my dad doesn’t even have them around the house, because he knows they made me sad. That’s what makes me really sad.

The beliefs didn’t disappear overnight, but for the most part, they’re gone. That doesn’t mean I don’t worry about that one, awkward strand of hair, or the way my shirt makes my stomach look. However, those thoughts no longer control my life. What helped me was the realization that no one cares near as much as I do about what I look like, and if they do, that’s their problem, not mine. What helped me even more than that was the realization that my looks shouldn’t and don’t define me. Clichéd, maybe, but so true: it’s what’s on the inside that counts.

Think of a cell phone, and think of its case. If you were buying a cell phone, what would you care more about: the cell phone itself, or its case? Our bodies are just our cases. I wrote a lyric from the incredible song “Mirror” by  Barlow Girl and stuck it on the mirror in my dorm room: Sorry, you won’t define me. Don’t let your mirror define you. It doesn’t even know you.

What saddens me the most is not that I let my looks define me for six years (though that does sadden me), but that so many, too many, other girls let their looks define them all their lives. It needs to stop, and it's our responsibility to make it stop. We’re the ones who tear each other apart because of how we look. Instead, we need to work together to make everyone feel beautiful.

That’s why I love Kristin’s post; it challenges us to work as a team. Lets do it.

At first, I decided to take a picture where I made a stupid face and cuddled my teddy bear:

Then, I realized I was missing the point. Sure, I wasn’t wearing makeup and my hair was a hot wavy mess, but you couldn’t see my teeth. I still haven’t gotten over my insecurities with my teeth, though I used to hate them much more. My teeth are what keep me from smiling in every picture that’s taken of me.

So, I smiled:

And, you know what? I like the second picture better. To smile in a picture was liberating. Thanks, Kristin.