On Your Personal Sovereignty
Not typically a word used to describe someone like me: not very tall, pit-bull-like in nature (muscle-y, stocky, kinda tough, big ole softie on the inside), skin not of alabaster but of an unevenly-painted beige wall.
We've been taught to judge ourselves first and foremost by our physiques. It's what we see first on a person, after all, and the overculture has told us that our highest purpose, as women, is to be gazed upon, to be seen and not heard, to sit on our tuffets (but don't eat too much curds and whey... or French fries. Whichever.).
We think we're unworthy, because we don't fit a standard, but I'd posit we are all more regal than we give ourselves credit.
Perhaps I'm not statuesque, in the traditional sense.
I'm okay with that, though. Why?
I'm strong, resilient, and solid. I know who I am and that for which I stand, even when the ground is shaky. I've plunged into the icy depths of my weaknesses, pulled out roots of insidious weeds planted in my garden, run with bulls and shouted from mountaintops.
(All true stories, by the way.)
Traditional standards have always fit me poorly, seeming to squeeze me like a corset three sizes too small. Yet, when I really look and change the narrative, those words wrap around me like a fuzzy robe, despite the pushback I apply.
Can you change your story? Will you crown yourself?