Feminists and Why I am One, or I'm Proud to be a Girl

Second post and again, it's because of something I saw someone else write about on two other pages. First it was my favorite blogger, Jenny Lewis aka The Bloggess. She explained feminism and why it's a good thing in her delightful bizarre and whimsical fashion (seriously, feminists being compared to bees and sharks and how we're all just misunderstood in the end; delightful, ridiculous, and hilarious as hell). Anyway, feminism. It's not about man-hating, bra-burning, blowing up the government. Sure, there are some feminists who want to do that, but just like not all babies are the same, neither are all feminists. Feminism for me is strictly about equality. I should be able to hold the same job, receive the same pay for said job, have total control over my body and any medical decisions I need to make for it, not have to worry about being harassed/attacked/assaulted and then asked what I was doing/wearing/saying to provoke it, etc. etc. etc. That's not totally what this is all about since thousands of bloggers have said these things a million times better than I am right now.

The second post that prompted this was something in Huff Po (but I'm using the link to her original post) that a friend posted on Facebook that really got me thinking. I've never been small, at least not since I was little (first, maybe second grade?). I've had big, frizzy hair and worn glasses since about the same time. I still have acne even though I'm about to reach 30 years (and that's just cruel, Mother Nature). I'm lazy and can't be bothered to get up early to do my hair or make up more days out of the year than I care to admit (let's just round it up to 360 days because that's pretty damn close to the truth). I rarely feel pretty, especially when I see a photo after the fact. All I see are my flaws.

"Look at my gigantic arms."

" Oh man, is that another zit forming on my forehead?"

"Why did no one warn me that my hair looked like that?!"

It's honestly exhausting to always have to worry what I'm going to look like in the pictures family and friends are snapping and posting on Facebook (not that I really care what others think of me, but I don't like feeling ugly; it's my human nature rearing again). But even more than exhausting, it's not productive, and it's certainly not healthy. It's setting a dangerous precedence for my two girls (and my son because, let's face it, boys are also bombarded with magazines telling them they need to be more rugged and handsome and thin and beautiful). I don't want my children to grow up seeing me worry and fret over how I look in pictures, too immobilized with fear over not being pretty or thin enough. I don't want the pictures on the walls of my home to be of just my husband and the kids with no proof that I live there too.

I want to play with my kids with reckless abandon while also not dying of heat stroke because I wore jeans and an oversized t-shirt. I want to laugh and dance and sing without a care in the world of who might be taking a picture. I want my girls to grow up loving their bodies and my son to grow up respecting the bodies of other girls. I want to feel pretty even when I've just got my hair pulled back and old yoga pants on. I want to live without regret or fear. I want to be me, unapologetically and happily.