Hello my lovely readers!
Today's #WordyandWheelyWednesdays entry is more in line with my usual postings, in that it's about happenings in my life, but they are nevertheless more abstract changes than specific events. Hopefully it'll make sense and you'll stick with me.
Most people who read this blog (whether you know me 'in real life' or not) are probably aware that I've struggled with body image for a long time now. This has a number of causes, but the most prominent one has been my spinal curvature, and the fact that it makes various aspects of my body 'not look like it should'. As a result, I find it very difficult to see myself in mirrors (even if it's just a glimpse), and I usually hide as much as I can underneath bulky hoodies - accompanied by my ever-present blanket - to try and be as inconspicuous as possible.
So far, so Jessi - and yet, so hypocritical, because it's exactly the opposite of the advice I give to my dearest friends. This is something I've only realised very recently, despite well-meaning and sincere people (both friends and family) trying to get it across to me for years.
What changed, then? I was having a conversation with a friend and she observed how other people necessarily take ownership of my body, for instance in the swimming pool or when doing personal care, so no wonder I feel distanced from it. For me, my body is not something I have autonomy over, but something that has stuff done to it. Moreover, the societal narratives about beauty do not fit with my physical configuration - and that is the key. Historically, bodies with disabilities have been devalued in order to place their occupants under coercive control; it is a lot easier to render someone passive if they feel unworthy.
From this, finally, after years of activism for other people, I have found the answer for myself - hence the title of this week's post. In such circumstances, the expression of self-love alongside disability is a highly subversive act. In the current political climate, it seems especially important to reject dominant oppressive discourses and, if I'm doing it in all other aspects of my life, I had better apply it to my body as well.
So, in an effort to begin and aided by the combination of being at home and warmer weather, over the weekend I decided to try out wearing plaid shirts and plaits again. It worked and was comfortable. I felt like myself again; so much so that I was brave enough to change my profile picture on social media.
This is not to say that things will shift overnight (far from it) and neither is it to suggest that I wasn't happy with the way I dressed before. I love my hoodies and am extremely proud of the collection I have accrued - and comfort (both physical and emotional) will always be my priority. There will be days when I don't have enough spoons to think about dressing in a particular way. And that is perfectly fine.
Because that is what's different - I know I am perfectly fine. Intrinsically. I also know I won't always feel that way, which is equally perfectly fine.
It's just nice to have made a start.
On that note, love (yourselves) until next week.
Jx
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