I Belong Deeply to Myself

by Dallas Taylor

My limbs used to ache as they grew. I’d feel the slow and brutal lengthening of bones and the tightness of my skin expanding like canvas stretched over a new framework. I cried as I outgrew my pink sparkly shoes and butterfly jeans, cursing my mother as she replaced them with others that fit me better and passed my prized possessions off in a hand-me-down bag. Eventually, my body reached its final width and height and the soreness subsided. Then, my soul started to grow, too. I cried again, outgrowing people and places, this time letting them go with love, quietly missing them but knowing we would both find someone else to fit us better. At 23, I laid in bed writhing the same way I had at 10, 11, and 12, desperate for comfort, and my bones whispered, “Remember, it’s only temporary, and you’ll be bigger for it.” I felt the pains again at 24, 25, and 26. Now, I greet them with a grateful sigh. What a gift it is to keep growing.

You see, it has always been women who have held my hair and fixed it into a braid so even my lowest moments could feel beautiful in some way. They danced with me down broken roads and made me who I am. So when I say, “I am just like other girls,” I am proud. I am a mosaic of the women who have lent me some of their light. Light I would not have found my way without.

You know what tastes better than skinny feels? A slice of my best friend’s wedding cake. The soup I made before sitting down to watch Practical Magic when it was cold outside. Vegetables because I like them, not because they’re one of “10 foods to eat for a tiny waist.” The Good Humor strawberry shortcake bar that tastes like playing catch in the street with my dad as the ice cream truck rolled by “unexpectedly.” Letting the sun touch every inch of my body like a tender hand rather than an interrogative lamp. Not paying attention to the way the curve of my stomach looks in a pair of jeans. Living and loving with a fullness I could’ve never found when I was determined to be less.