Sorry not sorry: honor my curls, curves, cunt and cranium

As some of you may know from the blog's Facebook page:

I had a very interesting conversation today. I was told (just by the name of my blog alone) that it sounds like a Human being that has given up. The person who brought this to my attention was very nice, very genuine, and was just trying to offer a simple suggestion (a different name), by the end of it, I opened their eyes. That's all I've ever wanted from my blog. To open people's eyes, to explain how I view the world, and to make people feel good about themselves. I explained my blog name through my own eyes and I want to share that with you today:

I HAVE given up, that's the thing, something that, and I say this with much respect, but it is something that only plus sized women and men alike can truly understand. I have given up on seeing fat as an insult. I am tired and have given up on acting like it is the worst thing one human being can call another.Being called "fat" is not an insult, there are so many things worse than that: monster, bitch, pedophile, murderer, racist.

I feel, in my opinion, that "Overweight, but still beautiful," conforms to societies standards of what beautiful is. When I read that, it sounds so much like an apology. To a person like me it reads "I'm fat, but let me try to convince you that I'm still pretty."So again, I have given up. I have given up on constantly feeling the need to apologize for my existence. I have no reason to feel bad, feel sorry, or feel ashamed for being unapologetically myself.

So "f*ck it, I'm fat" and, your point is? Is the entire attitude behind my blog.

#effyourbeautystandards #unapologetic #sorrynotsorry

After posting that, the phrase "sorry not sorry" stayed stuck in my head. So, in light of my last post, I thought I'd tell the world some things that I'm NOT sorry for.

Curls

From a young age, my hair has been the topic of discussion. I have what has been referred to in my community for many years older than myself as "good hair." However, what people really mean to say when they sashay that sh#t pile of a "compliment" my way is that I don't have: "black hair", "nappy hair", and "thank God you have a white parent or else that sh#t would be a wreck hair." I have gotten this, pretty much my whole life since about age eight. My hair was the topic of envy and as a little kid that made me feel really, really bad. I couldn't control how my hair was, it was just kind of there. But so many people made a fuss about it.

I started to feel ashamed about my hair. People were constantly making assumptions about me based off the length and texture of my hair. I just had to be stuck up. I of course thought I was better than everyone. Everyone wanted to touch it, braid it, comb it, touch it, touch it, touch it, touch it, and I even had a few people threaten to cut it. As a precautionary measure, my teacher made sure to seat me around boys. This ensured that no hair obsessed eight year old would "Harriet the Spy" my a** and hack my hair off during a classroom movie.

I started wearing my hair pulled back in a ponytail from age eight to about, oh, 17. I tried to make my hair as unassuming and unthreatening as possible. It was difficult for me. I gave up my beads, berrettes, colored hair ties, and scrunchies of yore. I blended in, I cowered down, and I submitted to the masses. Talk of my hair, aside from people wanting to touch it, and complaining that I never wore it down, died down after that.

Cue the day almost two and a half years ago when I found out about the natural hair movement. My hair was in terrible, terrible shape back then. I was very self aware and self conscious of my hairline. My hair was falling out like crazy. I had so much fall out that I could collect the hair coming out in my brush, burrow a hole through the center and make a bracelet. Yes, you heard me, a bracelet of hair. It was horrible. My hair was weak, dry, brittle, heat damaged, chemically damaged from dye, frizzy, thinning, and I had more split ends than there are people in China. It was in a sad, sad state.

I attribute my current natural hair prowess and hair health to the wonderful information gathered from both CurlyKikki and KinkyCoilyMe respectively. To these two brilliant women, I owe a huge debt of gratitude. My hair would be nowhere near as healthy as it is now if I had not learned so much about hair from their pages.

Of course, when I went natural, I caught a fair amount of flack for it. Even my own girlfriend told me, once upon a time, that because of my hair type I couldn't go natural. Comments like this are something I briefly touched bases with on the Facebook page. I'll leave that link here for your viewing pleasure, but to recap:

A lot of people think that mulatto people such as myself cannot be natural. I have had so many people who either think:

1) think it is impossible

2) think that it is simple

Nothing is impossible nor is anything in this world simple. I have been natural for 2 years now and it has been an incredible journey. I have said goodbye to sulfates, good bye to heat tools (I flat iron my hair once, maybe twice a year). I said good bye to hairspray and other harsh products. I stopped brushing my hair while wet. I started deep conditioning and doing protein treatments, respectfully. I started sleeping with a bonnet or silky pillowcases. I started taking vitamins. I read, I gain knowledge, I experiment.
Overall I became more conscious of what I was doing to my hair. All the stress I was putting it under was doing a number to my mane, it was torture. My two biggest things that help me combat my hair issues are: coconut oil and egg. There are two great articles about that on the Facebook page, yanno, I'm just sayin'...

So, to anyone that has ever thought I couldn't go natural just because I'm mulatto and have "good hair" (cue epic eye roll) here: f*ck you, I can and I did. Sorry not sorry, boo.

Curves

There are so many factors that attribute to people being overweight, mine are due to a lot of emotional trauma at a young age, but that is the story that no one one the outside looking in wants to hear. It is far easier for them to imagine that my day consists of me sitting on the couch, stuffing my face 24/7, round the clock, but that isn't the case. With my blog, I am trying to be honestly, fiercely, unabashedly myself so that hopefully it gives others the strength to say "You don't know me and I'm done caring SO much if you like me. Your view of my own body should not validate my entire being."

I used to cope with my heartache by eating food. I felt worthless and alone, I wanted someone so bad to just hold my hand for one moment and tell me that everything was going to be okay. But no one ever did, and it just reiterates how unlovable, worthless and pathetic I was. So I ate, I ate and for a few brief moments everything was okay, until I stopped eating. When I stopped eating, I would feel horrible for overeatting. I would feel inflated, bloated, large and it reminded me that no one wants a fat girl. So I would feel like sh#t all over again and pick up a fork, a plate, anything to stuff those feelings down again.

It's something that would start, and start, and start, and start, and start, and start, and start, and never stop. Round and round, pound after pound, tear after tear, I ate my feelings to this body. I would try and fail to lose weight, starve myself, and when the weight wouldn't come off, I ate some more to make myself a numb, hollow husk of a spirit.

I spent years apologizing for my existence, for taking up space. For eleven years of my life I felt that my weight was the main, determinant factor in my right to live, to love and be loved. I was was an excuse that needed to be apologized for: everyday. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was unlovable, but I had to convince myself that I was pretty just long enough to nab me a lover so that I could spend the rest of my life apologizing for tricking them into choosing me.

What kind of life is that? I'll give you a hint. It isn't one. This blog is all about coming into your own and loving every single bit of yourself like you never thought you could. It's about looking in a mirror and not wanting to turn away, to not be ashamed. This blog is about being the you that you always thought you never could be.

If anyone takes issue with me wanting to spread that message? Sorry not sorry.

Cunt

I do not shy away from that word. It isn't a dirty word to me, never has been, never will be. I have mentioned Pussy Manifesto by Bitch before and I will directly quote her now:

"I am sick of my genitalia being used as an insult, aren't you?"

I love having a vagina. It is the one thing on my body that unequivocally makes me feel like a woman. Most people shy away or turn their nose up at statements such as this. But I'll proudly say it:

I love having a cunt. I love the way it feels and smells. Smells, every vagina on this earth is like a snowflake. No two smell the same. Growing up, I remember being ashamed of my vagina. Who wouldn't? I wasn't supposed to talk about it. I wasn't supposed to touch it. Thanks to those two things alone, I didn't even comprehend until an embarrassing age (12) that you were supposed to actually wash the damn thing. I just kind of....let water run over it for lack of anything better to do.

My period made me hate being a woman.

Discharge in my panties made me feel like a freak of nature.

The scent of it made me feel filthy.

I spent a large portion of my life hating my own vagina.

It took me a lot of online articles, a lot of chats with friends online, and a lot of orgasms for me to realize: "Holy f*ck, my pussy rocks!"

So, I wear my cunt on my sleeves...Sorry not sorry.

Cranium

Since this is a body positivity blog, I talk a lot about my physical body, duh. However, I would like to point out, that there is more to me than that. I (obviously) am a writer. My love for writing has surpassed any memory lodged in my head I don't know when it started anymore, it has just always been a part of me. I love crafting an intricate web of a story, to draw people in and trap them. I love creating this cozy little world where it is just my voice in someone's head. I love the invisible connection that I feel.

Growing up, I was always made to be an outcast because of my bookworm-ish qualities. I spent a lot of my time reading as a kid. It was a way for me, outside of food, to escape my own reality. I couldn't have love and acceptance in my own life, but books always had tales of it to spare. It made me feel close to the world despite my physical distance from it. I was reading books like Lord of the Rings by the time I was on fifth grade. I wanted to absorb all that I could.

I'm still trying to absorb all that I can. I'm not the best writer, but I'm always willing to learn. I'm always willing to know what I did wrong so that my skills can grow and flourish. I may have a stack of rejection letters but hell, at least I tried. And for that? Yup, you guessed it, sorry not sorry.

Photographer: Michael Warner

MUA: myself