Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. We celebrate all healthy bodies here.
I want to get more comfortable being uncomfortable. I want to get more confident being uncertain. I don’t want to shrink back just because something isn’t easy. I want to push back, and make more room in the area between I can’t and I can.
Being touched by a stranger and told that I was beautiful didn’t make me feel more beautiful; it made me feel unimportant. It made me feel like what I wanted – to go from home to work with a quick stop at Starbucks on the way, without being harassed – didn’t matter. What mattered most was that this man had an opinion about me, so I had to hear it whether I wanted to or not. He wanted to touch me, so I was going to be touched, by a stranger, whether I wanted it or not.
The common notion that a person can and should “just give the baby up for adoption” seemed borderline reasonable before my pregnancies. Now I feel slapped in the face with the immense carelessness, cruelty, and arrogance packed into that little word “just.” Many different arrangements work best for particular individuals and families, sure, but just? That erasure of all the physical, social, economic, and psychological costs of pregnancy—especially of difficult pregnancies and pregnancies that aren’t supported and celebrated by our culture—stuns me, now.