When I was 10, my body had bruises from the playground and bug bite scars. I wore plaid bermuda shorts and graphic tees from Aeropostale. I started wearing training bras regularly, but the ugly, padless kind, not the cute ones with underwire that the popular girls wore. Someone wrote “I hate Maeve Allen” in the bathroom stall.
When I was 13, my body felt obese and awkward. I had boobs, but didn’t show them off like the other 8th grade girls. I tried on everything that I could afford from the Hollister clearance section, but the jeans never quite fit right. I failed my math midterm and none of the boys liked me.
When I was 16, my body still felt way too big. Everyone else seemed to be a size XS, while I always felt more comfortable in a size Large. Did that mean I was large? I lost my virginity to the first boy I kissed. He said I wasn’t fat, but I didn’t believe him. He took a picture of me in my underwear and I was disgusted of what my butt looked like from behind.
When I was 19, my body lost weight. Adderall helped me forget about eating, and I ran three miles everyday. I huffed and puffed and fantasized about finally liking my body. My pants got too big. I could wear crop tops without spilling out. I got too much attention from boys.
I just turned 22 and I have the body of a woman. I am thick and curvy. I’ll never be model thin, I’m not built that way. I have a little flap of a tummy and cellulite on the back of my thighs. I have an hourglass figure that other girls pine after. My boyfriend loves my body. I like feeling the strength in my legs when I walk my puppy up the steep hill in my neighborhood. I have a fast metabolism and enjoy riding my bike on the Rail Trail. I still can’t wear body con dresses, but I prefer to wear things that feel like me, instead.