Out on a Limb

by Hannah Bonam-Young

I don’t try to force my body to be something or deprive it of pleasantness. It just is. And I like it, enough, as is.

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.

If we all liked ourselves, dozens of industries would crumble like Babylon. We have to want a solution to whatever or however many problems plague us in order to keep those factories running. To keep money in men’s pockets.

“You can’t change anything by hiding it. You’ll just look back on memories and realize you tried to erase yourself. And how sad that would be.”

It’s so much easier to communicate insecurities when you don’t need to communicate them at all.

Years and years spent still getting to know each other, unlearning and relearning each other as the decades go by. Uncovering the intricate layers and deepest spots until every darkened corner is found. The mess and the chaos and the beauty of a life well lived—a life shared.