Body Hair.
It's not fair that for the better part of my life I was completely embarrassed and ashamed of the hair that grew naturally on my body. Even my arms were a source of ridicule. I felt excited when my mom finally permit me to shave my legs, and begged her to show me the right way. I had to pluck my eyebrows behind her back, and fucked those up to the point that she had to bring me to a salon. When I was in the 8th grade, I was actually relieved when a friend encouraged me to shave my arms, too -- after I had burned them months earlier with some stupid bleaching cream. She said she had shaved hers and that it looked and felt a lot better. Soon, I was shaving everything. Right down to my fucking stomach. Every two days, I would go into the painstaking task of hair removal. God forbid there was even a hint at stubble.
Skip ahead a few years. I live in Lowell, with Bonnie--whose hair is so light I agree she doesn't actually need to shave. I start going to different anarchist conferences and gatherings in the city as well as in Syracuse, and I begin to see more and more women showing off their own body hair. It takes me a long time of self reflection and discussion with other women, but at the end of that summer I decided to give it a shot.
Years later, I have finally begun to feel both beautiful and feminine, not in spite of my hair, not after hours spent removing it -- but in some ways, because of it.
Usually, I don't think about it at all. But when I do, my hair, specifically my leg hair, makes me think of everything I have overcome as a young woman. Years of hating my body. Dealing with bullying in school. Dudes who thought they could try and control me. I look down at my leg hair and I feel confident and proud that I can walk down the street, wearing what I want and not subscribing to the standards that have been placed on me.
Unfortunately, in spite of years of this positive thinking and unlearning I've done, there's one time that it just doesn't seem to work. That is when I am with my family. How unfair is it that after all this time, my peers are actually the ones who are respectful (or at least tactful) enough to not give me shit about my decisions regarding my own leg and pit hair? My mom, on the other hand, who was there for me when I was bullied and sat through every painful new hair removing endeavor, just repeats the same fucking patterns without any regard for my feelings. My stepdad is even worse. I should be able to shrug it off, laugh it off, have some educated or meaningful thing to say back at them. Instead I wind up sounding like a cliche, or a "hippie" (because that is the closest stereotype they can relate me to).
Of course, Marco decided to bring it up as we were going out the door to the airport. "You know you should really shave at least while we're in Italy." So it went. And now that we have had the argument, and I did not raise any new compelling evidence for my personal decision about my won body, I must not bring it up again. Do not speak until spoken to seems to be the working rule here. And yet, the conversation rotates in my mind. I pick out shorts and think that I should wear tights underneath. I wonder if maybe I should just give in//maybe I would like going back to shaving (uh wut). It's fucked that I care so much about what my parents think that it is driving me to hide my body -- but what's worse is how easily it is already affecting my self image. I wish I could have a more stubborn attitude; an unwavering sense of pride for my body. A sureness that would not be damaged by a few harsh words. Unfortunately, it is not so easy when it's your parents dishing it out.
When I thought that I had "overcome" and "dealt with" my body image issues, I had actually just taken the first few steps. This is a process, and I either have to figure out how to include my family, hide my body from them, or shut them out completely. Considering how close we are, none of these options seem particularly inviting to me.
(It seems abrupt to stop here but this is where I'm at.)