#loveyourself
Tomorrow will be better and if it’s not I’ll say it again…
i pray you heal from things no one ever apologized for…
Emotionally Unemotional
I did not come into this world
to be comforted.
I came, like red bird, to sing.
Mary Oliver
Free from all old stories I’ve been told. I walk through the valley of my own shadow
Yaima
Soul to Soul, we walk gently on this earth
By Vrinda Trivedi
Dear body,
I love, love, love you. I love you like I love my family- unconditionally, despite the many times I feel frustrated and angry. Ever since I was very little, I’ve had a sense of clarity about what I prioritized in my life. And my family always topped that list. It wasn’t until very recently that you, Body, climbed your way up to that list, just under “Mummy, Papa, and Vyoma.” For years, I neglected you. Skipping meals in favor of liquified sludge, depriving you of actual sustenance and love. But we’ve come far, haven’t we? Nearly 20 years, we’ve spent together, you and I. Sometimes at odds, and sometimes as harmoniously as chips and guac. And although this admiration has always been unspoken, today, I want to take the time to declare my appreciation for you. So, in no particular order, here is an abridged list of why I love you:
Nose, you’ve been the trouble child. A bit oversized and pointy, I’ve never been your biggest fan. But despite my distaste, you let me adorn you with a golden hoop so I could feel connected to my motherland and the centuries of Indian women who also share my delight in catching a glimpse of gold in every reflective surface. For hosting that sense of community, I thank you.
Eyes, the windows to my soul. Dark and angsty as ever, you humor me to no end. Even when I pretend like everything’s okay and I’m not actually pissed off, you perpetually give away my true emotions. You teach me that my feelings are valid, and you allow me to display my fury, sadness, and joy, without restraint.
Feet. I used to be pretty apathetic about you, feet, never fully understanding how completely dependent I am on you. The constant walking (often in horrendously painful shoes, beauty is pain, yada yada) in New York has made me hyper aware of how resilient my feet are when it comes to healing quickly so I can continue on with life. The speed at which my poor feet have healed themselves repeatedly can only be described as truly astonishing, even magical
Arm hair, I love you now, but we both know that I used to hide you under swaths of cloth because I was ashamed of you and your abundance of feathery, black fuzz. When I was 17, all the aunties used to whisper and occasionally confront me about why I hadn’t gotten rid of you to reveal my bony, bronzed arms. Their words were so hypnotic and I was amazed at how all the older girls looked almost seductive, baring their glistening, bare arms in the summer, so I did what they said. I took a Venus Embrace to you, and days later realized that the “Embrace” wasn’t comforting at all. Arm hair stubble is the literal worst. And so to keep the pointy black pigment from sprouting up, I became obsessed with shaving my arms, and I hated it. Finally, winter, with its safe, covered sleeves, came around and I dealt with the constant itchy skin and let you grow back into silky strands of darkness. My hair is what embraces me now, keeping my arms happy and protected. When the aunties stare in confusion at my dark arms, I smile and wave, letting my arm hair flutter through the breeze.
My back makes me insecure. I have never been completely content with the way that you look and the way that you feel. Covered in dark brown freckles, sun spots and an assortment of little black moles, I cringe when you’re exposed to the world behind me. Radical self love tells me that I need to accept you as a part of me, before I can become fully happy with myself. It’s frustrating, but I’ve been taking steps to come to terms with the fact that you’re not perfect, and that’s okay because I’m not perfect either. When I was considering getting a tattoo, I was very apprehensive about the idea of a back or shoulder tattoo. I didn’t want to have to see you more than I already had to. But then I realized that I needed to force myself to look at you, to appreciate you, so I ended up getting a Sanskrit mantra, “या देवी सर्वभुतेषु शक्तिरूपेण संस्थिता ।” (“Yaa Devii Sarva-Bhutessu Shakti-Ruupenna Samsthitaa”, which translates to “To that Devi Who in All Beings is Abiding in the Form of Power”) on my upper back.
To me, the mantra deconstructs power dynamics in a way that restores and affirms the idea that the female form is the embodiment of pure power.) It reminds me that my physical form embodies strength. I forget far too often that the human body is self-preserving in a variety of ways, and that I contain all that I need. Our Eurocentric media and society continually tell me that I am not conventionally pretty, with a big nose and hairy brown skin. But over time, I’ve slowly come to understand that beauty is not supposed to be exclusive. My definition of beauty is one where all bodies, able or not, white or not, binary or not, are accepted and loved by the people that inhabit them. My beautiful body, I love you.
Lots of love (even despite the occasional hate),
Me
Vrinda Trivedi is a senior Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies and Political Science double major at the College of Wooster. She interned with Sakhi for South Asian Women this summer.
This picture says more than a thousand words❤️
We have survived so much together.❤️
I Love You❤️