Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

I, like most women my age, have learned to hate myself just enough to appease others. If you’re too fond of how you look, you’re told you’ll be unlikeable. Labeled as self-involved, egotistical, or stuck-up. But it’s purposeful—pitting us against one another. Consumerism demands we remain unsatisfied with our appearance. If we all liked ourselves, dozens of industries would crumble like Babylon.

The power that I had given him to validate my desirability. The power I could give to someone else if I was foolish enough. So I decided I wouldn’t give anyone that power ever again. Not until I love myself enough that someone’s favor—or disfavor—won’t turn the tide.

“So…do we—do we get married?” “What?” I jump back. “No! What? Why would we get married? We don’t even know each other!” He sits straighter, blowing out a breath. “Sorry, I’m not sure what came over me just then.” “The ghost of your great-grandfather, evidently,” I say.

“I’m going to friend the shit out of you, Freddie McNulty.”

“Celebratory?” I ask. “What are we celebrating?” “Your new plan. The kid you’re growing. You, in general.”

Yeah, I think I would. I know the timing isn’t exactly ideal, but if you lined up every other person in the world who I could’ve had a baby with, I’d choose you again. You’re going to be a fantastic mom, Win.”

It’s so much easier to communicate insecurities when you don’t need to communicate them at all. Isn’t that all we ever want? To be seen and heard? Validated, even when we’re not able to ask for it.

Sometimes…things are just good things. I could spend my whole life waiting for the other shoe to drop, or I could begin training myself to expect the best. Embrace gratitude and drop the skepticism.

What I mean is I want him inside me. But not only in the way he will inevitably be soon. But burned inside of me. Like lightning hitting a tree and starting a fire from within. I want him, his life, his lessons, his soul and its impressions to be branded under my skin.

“It’s not up to you to fix Jack’s mistakes….” “No,” Bo says, leaning down to kiss me just once, brushing his nose against mine. “But it is my job to love you the way you deserve to be loved from now on.” He presses his forehead against mine, breathing out slowly. “Let me do that, honey.”

That someone could love me this much. Choose to fill me up instead of pour me out. Build a fire to keep me warm instead of burn me out.