Posts tagged self love

EMBRACING HER STRIPES

Beauty Life Random 7 Comments

I recently saw a beach photo of a Nigerian celebrity, and my heart ‘awwwwn’ed. Of course, she was in a bikini and she was baring her tiger stripes to the eyes of both vultures and lambs. I found that to be very impressive and brave.

I’ve become used to seeing ridiculously edited pictures of celebrities, showing us only the glam side. So, you see why I was impressed? Never in my weirdest imaginations, would I have pictured this celeb to have stripes or any other physical flaw, cos she looks like a perfect real life brown skin barbie. I would have had that picture painted on my forehead, and my occupied chest, if I could, just for the world to see . Yes, that was how Impressed I was.

The picture brought memories of those days I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin; of how the girl who loved to show legs a lot, suddenly became a convent girl.

I think I’ve shared this story before. Well, here’s me sharing again, in a different shade of light.

Before puberty hit me hard into a coma that almost left me dead, I had the ‘perfect’ body; no one told me this, I just loved my skin a lot, that made it perfect for me. I had lots of really short skirts, shorts, and some short denim dungaree dresses. I loved showing my legs a lot. I was a child, so showing skin was acceptable, until some foreign things that behaved like snails started to grow on my innocent chest— it felt like stones were planted there. That was one very scary experience, I was just eight. Well, that’s not the subject now, let’s not deviate. We are supposed to be talking about tiger stripes. So yes, back to that.

I was ten years old when my body started to fully change. Those snail like creatures were beginning to get bigger and heavier for me to accommodate on my chest, and I wasn’t ready to have them caged, cos really, I found it embarrassing. I was barely eleven for crying out loud, why would I be wearing what people like my mother and aunts wore? That would make me an outcast among my peers—wearing a bra, I mean. So, I chose to deal with the pain that came with running, jogging, or walking fast with those monstrous things on my chest, without restraint. Like that wasn’t enough punishment for being a girl, I woke up to find some stagnant earthworm like creatures on my body. If I could run from me, I would have. I screamed and cried.

A lot of thoughts ran through my mind. Did I offend anyone in school? Was that the effect of eating spaghetti and noodles? Or was I reacting to the new body cream? Is there a treatment for it? The sight disgusted me, cos those marks really looked like earthworms— brown, and fat. They were still very fresh. I had them on my lower body. Well, the break of the news that it had no cure, destroyed me. It was finished; shakara had ended and I wasn’t even a teenager yet.

I just thought life wasn’t being fair to me. First, I had been dealing with my mates and adults referring to me as ‘bum bum’ or singing ‘Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, bumbum!’ when I walked, since I was very little. Let’s just say that didn’t really bother me. Okay, I just lied cos it actually did bother me, but I learnt to shrug it off. Then came the aliens on my chest; I was still really struggling with that— how their eyes popped, and entered their shell still freaked me out. It got really bad, my mom had to suggest I get them chopped off, since I couldn’t live in harmony with them. Now, I had stretchmarks (which I later rechristianed ‘Tiger stripes’) added to the list of my misfortunes. In my mind, I was like ‘God, how far na? I’m supposed to be your favourite child. Why are you letting evil befall me?’

That was the beginning of wearing very long skirts for me. If it wasn’t way below my knee, I wouldn’t wear it; it had to reach my calf just a little below where the stretchmarks ended. People assumed I was just a very churchy church girl, they didn’t know what was supping. Well, I was a church girl (still one), but I wasn’t the kind of church girl they thought— the ‘SU’ kind.

I dreaded Wednesdays, in secondary school, cos that meant wearing shorts, and it wasn’t an option. It was compulsory to be in the school sports wear. This was what I did; I’d wear black tights beneath my shorts and sag my shorts just so it masked my ‘disease’ to an extent. There was my school skirt too, it fitted really well, thanks to my small waist and wide hips but there was a ‘but’…it was a ‘wedding dress.’ It was long! I admired other girls who could wear knee length and mid-knee length skirts without a reason to be ashamed.

It wasn’t until after secondary school I saw the light. Isn’t God great? I finally woke up from the coma. The miracle happened cos I accepted that I couldn’t change my situation. I had no control over biological changes in my body. I didn’t choose to have stretch marks. Well, by now, they weren’t so irritating, the marks had faded from reddish brown to blend with my skin colour to an extent. That was the birth of ‘tiger stripes.’ I didn’t even know that was already a thin. The marks just reminded me of tiger stripes and I loved the sound, it didn’t sound like a disease of some sort. And that’s how I got my groove back. Yasss! I stopped having shame. Shame for what? No be person I kill, na stretch marks I get. Anyone offended by the sight should kindly look away. Don’t break!

So, my beautiful ladies and gentlemen endowed with tiger stripes, or any physical flaw at all, on any part of your body, don’t let it limit you from doing things you’d love to do. Please, be comfortable in your skin. Wear that armless shirt; put on those shorts; hit the pool or beach in that hot bikini or swim suit, only if you want. Do not let anyone shame you for a ‘crime’ you didn’t choose to commit. You know why? Cos life’s too short to not wear shorts!

Shout out to Inidima Okojie, for showing us her perfect imperfection.

PS: Did you know that stretch marks and cellulites are some of the prices (I’m aware of) for having thick thighs; just to save your lives? Shaking my head. The things we do for love ehn. Some of y’all don’t deserve us. Yes, I said us, you know what that means.

BODY SHAMING; NOT ALLOWED HERE

Beauty Life Random 7 Comments

One of the fastest ways to get me mad is by body shaming. I mean it. I can’t stand people who body shame others, it irks me. It’s enough reason to break up with a guy, for me. It is never funny to make fun of a person or riducle a person for his phenotype. We talk about depression here and there, many cases have resulted to suicide. Then you start to hear many saying “He should have spoken up,” “She should have talked about it.” With who? I ask . You? The same you who’d never stop shaming his body? You who constantly made her feel less of a human cos she was too fat or too thin? Just think again, some of these suicide cases are due to body shaming and bullying. Oh yeah, you should go for confession for committing murder. You think cos that girl, that boy you body shamed or constantly body shame is still breathing, you’re free? Has it ever occurred to you that that girl, that boy could just be a living body with a dead or crumbled personality cos of your thoughtlessness ? Of course not. The point is whether the victim is breathing or nah, you’re still guilty of murder!

You’re probably thinking, this girl sef too get wahala. Break up with a guy for always body shaming people? It may not make any sense to you. It will soon, let me paint you a picture. Let’s assume I’m a girl with the “perfect body,” small waist, flat tummy, medium size boobs, wide hips with a big butt and a fine face. I can’t exactly be described as fat or thin. I’m dating this guy who adores my body and is always happy to flaunt me. He loves me totally, that’s what I and every other person thinks. He’s almost perfect, ticks 95% of every girl’s list, but… he never stops making comments about how Amara’s calves are like Abuja yams, how thin and boyish Sola is and how dating her will be like dating a fellow boy, how Hadiza’s yansh is flatter than pancakes , how Aniekan’s legs are like toothpick, how Ese’s stomach looks bigger than her achievements, how Omada’s boobs are like the fallen walls of Jericho or are similar to the famous downfall of Olympus and so on. Well, I don’t think him talking about them is a problem, after all he loves me and my body is perfect.

Years later, I get married to him. He feels like he just earned the world’s biggest and most expensive trophy with his name engraved on it. We are couple goals until nineteen months later, when we welcome our first child together and my body refuses to go back to what it used to be. I have the tattoo of motherhood all over my stomach and my once upon a time perky boobs. My stomach now resembles an over soaked bag of garri. My husband now sees me and gets turned off, he suddenly doesn’t adore me anymore, he feels uncomfortable to be seen in public with me now . Only then do I realize he never really loved me, he only loved my body and now that that body is gone… You know the rest.

This is why I say, fall for a person’s personality and other qualities, not just the looks. Let the looks be a plus. Age will set in, accidents could happen, childbirth will change some things. What now happens when the beautiful body or face or height is lost?

Say no to body shaming, never join in laughing at a supposedly funny joke at the expense of another’s feeling. It destroys people mentally and physically. Don’t be the reason for another’s low self-esteem or depression. Learn to love people the way they are, we didn’t choose what we look like, just like we didn’t get to chose the family or country we were born into. You could have been me and I could have been you. Again I say, say no to body shaming. Nobody’s body should be your problem. Are you even perfect ? Worry about you first.

FIGHTING MY DEMONS

Beauty Life Random

As a little girl, I always just wanted to be a boy because I thought being a boy was cool and I thought most girls and their play were just dumb and weren’t competitve. I loved competing with boys, jumping over chairs and on tables, playing police and thief, shooting imaginary guns in the air and at each other, drawing comics, super heroes and cartoon characters, watching and later pretending to be Superman or Spiderman or Green Lantern or Ice man and the rest of the super heroes. I didn’t care about having pretty hair and wearing dresses. I preferred to have my hair cut into a short afro, I preferred to wear clothings like trousers, really short shorts, track pants and shoes like converse, toms, e.t.c . I owned very few dresses and skirts, I owned pretty shoes too but I always preferred my “canvas”. I only cared for long hair adorned with beads when I saw some of my girlfriends looking really cute and dolly and getting attention from boys( my gees) . Not like I didn’t get attention too, I got a lot but it just didn’t feel right cos in my head, I was a boy. Why would a boy be liking a boy, ewwww, gross! You’re probably picturing little me as a lean boyish looking girl with a bounce to her steps. I was very far from that description. I must confess I tried bouncing and dressing like a boy a couple of times but never looked like one cos I was a chubby, ball like little girl with cheeks like egg rolls , I could pass for a live size doughnut. I wonder how ridiculous I must have looked those times I tried the bounce steps, probably looked like a bouncing ball. I forgot to mention doughnut was my nick name, they called me agric too. Note, I wasn’t a fat kid, just a cute and chubby one. My desire for adorned hair never lasted, after few months of trying different styles I’d decide I wanted my hair chopped off, fortunately for me, I had rapid hair growth, so I could afford to switch as I liked.

Puberty hit me really early and hard. Let’s do a flashback to pre-puberty, I was an outspoken, annoyingly inquisitive, over confident, daring and extremely far from shy girl. I was what you’d sometimes call a busy body, a reserved one. Forward to the puberty era, my body began to change, at age eight, I started to feel like I had little stones fixed to my chest. I noticed after a minor accident of two humans colliding, one of the humans happened to be me and the other happened to be one of my boyfriends. This accident happened during one of our rough games, the pain I felt on my chest was really sharp and unusual. I didn’t think it was anything serious and so continued with life. With time, the stones that were attached to my chest without my permission began to become noticeable, only to the observant. One sad fateful day, the news of me gradually becoming a woman was broken to me, I felt like God had done me evil and wasn’t fair, I was supposed to be his favourite girl (I used to think I was loved more than his other creatures, his number one after Jesus ). Why would he make me an old woman before I could be a child, why was I to be different from my friends? I felt like an alien in my own body, if I could run from me, I would have. That was a turning point in my life and my confidence dropped a notch lower.

I adapted to the little change, got a bit more conscious around my peers. By the time I clocked ten, I had already stretched out, I wasn’t looking all doughnuty again, I still had my signature cheeks though. My chest stones had grown bigger and felt less like stones. My legs, I was obsessed with though I didn’t like my feet, they were too big for my size but my long fingers and palm gave me and my mother hope that I was going to turn out tall. So much for having hopes, I didn’t turn out short, I only became compact. I became comfortable in my newly acquired body, I liked how I earned respect from my some of my agemates and older friends cos they thought I was really older. That was the genesis of my big sis/mummy attitude. I started to settle disputes and give advice, if only they knew.

Unfortunately for me, the prefect in charge of upgrading our different life stages wasn’t happy with my comfort and regained confidence. So she, yes, had to be a she, only a she can be that mean to another she. She decided to send some creatures to possess my body. I woke up to see really big immobile earthworms on most parts of my body, I freaked out, screamed and started to cry. “What happened to my fresh skin, who did I offend in school yesterday ? I must have offended a witch without knowing”, I thought. How could that even happen when I had God? I thought again, cancelling the thoughts of it being the handwork of witches, I was too strong for any witch to mess with, that was me seeing myself as God’s favourite again. I started to think it was the result of consuming noodles or spaghetti. These ugly things were on my thighs, legs and some parts I shouldn’t desecrate your eyes and mind with. I hoped and prayed for these creatures to leave me but they were adamant on staying, my beautiful and flawless skin was the perfect habitat for them. I gave up trying to make them homeless hoping that some day, they’d get tired and leave.

The presence of these aliens which I later learnt are called stretch marks (I prefer tiger stripes) was the beginning of the end of wearing short skirts and shorts. I became a nun overnight, I started to get attracted to long dresses, skirts and trousers only. I mourned my loss whenever I saw girls my age showing off beautiful legs and yearned to have mine back. I was already in JSS1 when I had this misfortune . At eleven, I looked fifteen. One would think I was mistakenly admitted into a class of little children in stead of the adult school. I didn’t let these things bother me, I was really smart and that was all that mattered. I earned the respect of my mates and teachers, that distracted them from thinking I was too old for the class. I wasn’t intimidated by looks cos most of my mates were still plain Janes and were “kids”. I was content wearing my almost calf length skirt, so far my stripes were hidden, I was very confident. If I didn’t have those, I definitely would have had a mid-knee length school skirt.

My confidence started to crumble again in Jss3, when my derriere was getting me unneccessary attention. I’d always had that, but for some reasons, I started getting very conscious about it. My steps became affected cos I didn’t want it to shake too much, there were times I had to tie a cardigan to my waist just so no one will comment on my “water bum bum”. I thought secret of me housing some worm like aliens on my body was going to stay secret till I finished secondary school. As if the torture of having to walk very carefully and stiffly wasn’t enough, my PHE teacher had to make sports compulsory for everyone.You know what that meins, I had to put on shorts! Oh Lawd, how I was I going to survive? There was no escape plan. Unfortunately for me, I was one of her favourites and she ensured I took part actively, though I ended up being good at only matching (match past) after trying many sports. I was always very conscious during sports and tried to move around less but that wasn’t possible. You’re probably wondering how I managed now. Well, this was what I did, I wore my shorts on long black tights and sagged on it. I tucked out my shirt and tied my cardigan on my waist, just so my sagging won’t be very noticeable . This became a routine, I did it every sports period till I graduated. It didn’t totally hide my secret but it was protected to an extent. Remember, this was in JSS3, most girls were already developing and were getting shapely, this was a door to another misfortune …To be continued.