Page 128 of On My Side
I hate the idea. I hate it and I want him to know I hate it.
But more than that, I want to feel better. This shame I feel is a vicious cycle: shame about my body, then shame about feeling a certain way about my body when I have a daughter who looks to me for guidance.
“I can try,” I say, mouth dry and voice hoarse.
He presses his lips to my forehead and it feels like he’s trying to siphon out the bad thoughts in my brain and replace it with the way he feels about me.
I strip out of my clothes, and when I'm just in my underwear, Ren steps behind me and plants his hands on my shoulders. He gently guides me until we’re in front of the full-length mirror attached to my wall.
My stomach churns as I run my eyes over my body, my eyes immediately drawn to the lines and dimples, the rolls and dips. The cellulite on my thighs and upper arms, and the way the waistband of my underwear digs into the fat of my stomach. They scream at me, reminding me why I’m not good enough.
Ren gathers my hair, sweeping it over to one side to rest his chin on my shoulder as I instinctively raise my arms to cross over my body. He catches my hands, lacing our fingers together and bringing one hand up to kiss the back of mine. “Can you tell me what you don’t like?” he asks without an ounce of judgment in his voice.
I blink back tears. “I… my stretch marks. They’re everywhere.” I watch in the mirror as his eyes move down my body, stopping at my breasts, my hips, my thighs.
“What else?” he asks.
“The rolls on my sides and back,” I tell him, voice wobbly. He doesn’t say anything, only surveys my body.
“Keep going.”
“There are these dimples right above my elbow. And my breasts are so saggy and my belly so wrinkly. It hangs down, too.” I want to point to them, but Ren’s grip on my hands is tight. I hate that he knows if he lets go of my hands, I’m going to cover up. “And my thighs and upper arms jiggle and have cellulite.”
He squeezes my hands encouragingly. “It sounds like your brain is being really fucking mean to you.”
I let out a sob, the dam finally breaking. “Yeah,” I say, voice cracking.
He turns my body towards him, wrapping his arms around me and holding me as I cry. He doesn’t say I’m wrong for feeling this way, but lets me feel with no restrictions, no conditions.
After a few minutes of him rubbing my back and telling me that it’s okay to cry and to feel this way, I take a step back and wipe my eyes. “I feel like such a bad person, such a bad mom,” I admit, shame washing over my body. “I’m raising a daughter whose body will change, and this is how I am about my own changing.”
He puts his hands on my waist and pulls me in a little closer, pressing his forehead to mine. “You arenota bad mom or personfor feeling very human things about your body,” he tells me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re a person doing her best in a world that idealizes a certain type of body. It’s not your fault you don’t fit in a tiny box, the box should have space for bodies like yours, and so many others.”
“Says the male beauty ideal,” I say tearily, hoping my joke lands. I poke one of his abs.
“Hey.” He cups my face and adjusts my head so he’s looking directly into my eyes. “My body isn’t better because society says it is. My body isn’t better,period. It’s a body that could change, like yours has. Like my sisters’ have. I am notbetterbecause my body type fits in the tiny box, and no one is worse because theirs doesn’t. You’re not magically going to love your body, even if I do. That’s okay. You don’t have to love it. I just don’t want you to hate it, because your body…” He exhales heavily. “...Aud, you make me want to go back to church, because whoever created you deserves to be worshipped as much as you do.”
He drops one of my hands, tracing his own over the stretch marks. I inhale sharply, and his eyes find mine in the mirror. “I love these marks,” he murmurs, eyes intent on mine. He’s taken to wearing his glasses more often and it makes me weak in the knees. “I love them because they represent your body changing to accommodate the growth of one of my favorite people in the world.”
Hearing him refer to Piper as one of his favorite people in the world brings tears back to my eyes.
His touch is gentle as it moves upward, resting over the loose skin on my belly, his fingers spreading to cover it. “She grew right here. Your body did what it had to to keep her, and you, safe. It expanded with your universe to make room for Piper.”
Tears are streaming down my face as his hands move again, lightly tracing the sides of my breasts. “You literally nourished her with this body, Aud.” He says it like he’s witnessed a miracle.“Your body took care of her,andyou.” He gently turns me towards him, cupping my face and leaning forward to kiss away my tears. “Can you look at yourself that way? With a neutral attitude towards your body’s functionality?”
I peer out of his embrace, making eye contact with myself. I try to see myself the way he described me, see my body as something that created my favorite human, the body that allowed me to nourish and hold her and stroke her hair when she’s sad.
While I don’t feel one hundred percent better, I can acknowledge what my body has done not only for me, but for the daughter I love so much.
I squeeze Ren tighter and bury my face into his chest, inhaling the scent that is as safe and familiar as my own home. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“I know it doesn’t fix everything, but I hope it helped a little,” he says, kissing the top of my head.
“It did,” I tell him, tipping my head to peer at him. “But honestly, when you told me to strip, I expected it to be sexual.”
He blinks at me in surprise. “Would me sexualizing you while you sobbed about your body have been helpful?” He sounds genuinely curious, like he’s making note of how to deal with the situation in the future.
“No, but I’m not sobbing now, am I?” I say slowly, because what’s more arousing than an emotionally intelligent and sensitive man? I drag the tip of my index finger along his sternum, knowing my cheeks are tearstained and eyes puffy beneath my glasses.
