Dear Sister

Poetry

Dear Sister,
This is about a girl who just caught her bus.
She is one of us.
She wants to be everything at once.
But mostly feels like nothing at all.

She wants to be tall.
She wants to be taken seriously,
But is usually taken for granted,
And now is being taken to the corner
of Grant and Avenue D.
She is part of you and me.
Her hair is a mess
And she’s wearing a dress
That hasn’t been washed in a while.
She cracks a small smile.
At the boy in the front
Who just shot a glance her way.
But he’s not looking at her.
Instead he looks at the seat
Next to hers where he meets
the eyes of a girl
Whose dress is clean.
He wasn’t being mean.
But she felt in his eyes
a life’s worth of lies
She’d been telling herself in her dreams.
The lies that crept in her head
When she laid in her bed
Wishing the sun not to rise.
Clenching her eyes.
The lies that said she wasn’t good enough.
Not smart enough. Not pretty enough.
Not tough enough.
Her heart was rough.
The soft tissues that grew
Were now black and blue
From the beatings she gave to herself.
She put her dreams on a shelf.
Since she’d never achieve them
She’d much rather leave them
Far out of reach.
If she only knew
That the lies were not true.
But they tore through her like bleach.
Fading away, a bit everyday,
her marvelous, colorful hue.
This girl is me and you.
Constantly bombarded
And hopelessly guarded
from a world that demands nothing less
Than perfection and grace
Power wrapped in lace
A maiden who’s not in distress.
Because heaven forbid we feel stressed
And wear a dress
with hair that hasn’t been washed in a while.
Heaven forbid that we smile.
If the world only knew
All the things we could do
If left to achieve our own dreams
But the world isn’t as cruel as it seems
If we stand hand in hand,
Change from ask to demand,
We can finally go the extra mile.
We can learn to truly smile.

My dear, dear sister
we all have grown blisters
from where the world has rubbed us
against the grain of our souls.
So let’s make some new goals.
Be messy.
Be graceful.
Be crazy.
Be tasteful.
Be your own kind of strong.
Together, we’ll right the wrong
And tomorrow’s sisters can live the lives we wished for all along.

I objectify women.

christianity, Everyday

Some of you know that disordered eating is part of my story. For those who don’t know, I had an eating disorder in college. What started as my attempt to actually start working out turned into a daily battle to fight the gnawing hunger in my belly. In six months I lost over thirty pounds (which is impressive for my already small frame), stopped menstruating for what would be a year, and permanently altered my relationship with food and my understanding of what it means to be beautiful. 

But this post isn’t about my past experience with an eating disorder or the fact that I still struggle with negative food thoughts from time to time. This post is about the harrowing realization that, although I’m a strong supporter of true beauty and healthy choices, my inner life actually perpetuates the messages I actively try to combat.

Every time I get stressed because I haven’t worked out, I accept the lie that my calorie-consumption directly affects my worth. Every time I read a fitness blog and sigh because I physically cannot ever attain a thigh-gap (ladies, some people just aren’t made that way), I assent that there is a physical norm we must adhere to. Every time I compare and contrast my appearance with that of another woman God has created, I choose to reduce them to an object. In short, I objectify women, because I objectify myself. And that’s pretty disgusting.

Don’t worry, I’m not giving myself all the blame. It’s well-known that women are forced-fed unhealthy beauty standards by the media. (I work in advertising, so I know far too well the messages that are being propagated, though I actively fight against it.) But we cannot blame media for our eager acceptance of their lies, for our willingness to swallow their images, for our crazed appetite for the next beauty line or fashion magazine… because the lie has been revealed.

We know the images we see aren’t true and that they don’t portray femininity in its full beautiful spectrum. We know that the media has skewed society’s perception of what ladies are supposed to look like. And that knowledge, borrowing from our friends at School House Rock, gives us power. We have the opportunity to change that, and some ladies already have. Whether it’s submitting petitions to magazines to include non-photoshopped photos in their publications or supporting products like Dove and their Campaign for True Beauty, there’s a lot that we can do to stop the objectification of our fellow women.

But it has to start with us. All it takes is some action, no matter how small. And that means starting to see ourselves – myself – differently. For me, that means finding an accountability partner to help me love my body the way God made it, and catching myself every time I judge another woman on their appearance instead of their character. For you, it might mean throwing away your scale. Or enjoying food because it’s healthy, not because it’s low in calories. Or removing the phrases “shedding for the wedding” and “summer body” from your vocabulary. Or just saying affirming things to yourself in the mirror in the morning when you wake up (I went through a time when I had no less than 10 Bible verses written in expo marker on mine).

It’s true society isn’t very helpful, but we can help each other. It doesn’t have to be some huge social campaign. But it has to be something.

I see London; I see France.

Lists, Random

This post is dedicated to the wonder that is shorts under skirts. While the Skort reigns as the mullet of the clothing world–”party in the front, business in the back”–wearing shorts underneath a skirt offers the security of pants without sacrificing the pleasure of wearing your favorite flowy article of clothing. It’s like the second feminist revolution. Or a reversal of it. Either way, under-shorts (a word I have created to describe this phenomenon) provide a means to look cute and still get some serious work done.

Reasons Why I Wear Shorts Under My Dress/Skirts:

1. If I see a good tree I will climb it. I don’t care what I’m wearing.

2. The Wind wants to see you in your knickers.

3. Tights defy gravity. (This needs no explanation unless you are a man. In that case, ask a girl.)

4. Sitting “lady-like” is painful–my legs fall asleep if I keep them crossed too long.

5. Some dresses are not “breezy” or “airy”. It’s like an ice-storm down there.

6. As a child I feared little boys being able to see my undergarments. I never grew out of it.

In conclusion, if I am wearing a dress you can bet that I have shorts on underneath. Don’t believe me? I give you permission to lift my skirt. It’s amazing how freeing it is. The only downside is, although I am quite aware of protective qualities of my under-shorts, the rest of the world is typically unaware that I have adopted this practice. Thus, before offering to climb to the top of a ladder or performing any form of acrobatics, I have to warn the public that they are not about to be involved in an indecent exposure case otherwise people tend to freak out. The following statement resembles one that I have given many a time in the past:

“Excuse me people of the room, whom I may or may not know. I would like to announce to you that I in fact am wearing shorts underneath my dress. Please do not be alarmed if I carelessly leap across this table, perform a cartwheel, or scale this wall. There is no need to shield your eyes or get overly excited like the creepy guy in the corner over there. There is nothing to see. I just thought I should let you know before you assume that I have lost all self-respect in the effort to adopt a more free lifestyle. On the contrary, instead of shedding the regard I have for myself, I have in fact clothed myself with liberty in the form of an appropriately–and discretely–worn pair of shorts. You may now return to your game of bridge.”

After the public has been forewarned, I am free to do whatever I please. Thank you under-shorts, thank you.