In my hometown fifth and sixth graders used to attend school together. It was call the Intermediate School. When I was in sixth grade, after my first six weeks at the Intermediate School, my family moved to another town. Much to my surprise and huge news to the eleven year old me, I would attend middle school. Middle school, in this town, was grades sixth through eighth.
Initially, it was intimidating, but as I made friends and got adjusted, it became normal. Plus, I thought the eighth grade boys were "soooooooo cute," and I developed a crush on one of them. I cannot remember his name. I don't remember what he looked like. I have no clue what led to this crush. The only thing I clearly remember about that boy is what I overheard him say when someone told him I liked him.
"The chubby girl?"
I remember that he said it with such a strong combination of incredulity and dismission that I knew not to mistake it for a description. It was repugnance. And, I, a little girl who assigned importance to the opinions of little boys, internalized that as rejection.
Years later, a much more headstrong young lady, I was engaged in an arguement with this guy around a group of guys. I could handle myself, and I was. I was until he said something that had nothing to do with the topic of debate.
"Don't nobody care about what your husky ass have to say."
As all of his friends starting laughing, I shrunk. Who knew "husky" would be the showstopper? I had no response. Eloquence was no match for a physical insult, and I had never mastered the art of "scoring."
It was at some point between eleven and eighteen that I began to wonder:
Who taught them that? Who taught boys how to skillfully categorize, dismiss, and dismantle girls on the basis of their looks? Who failed to ensure that girls were so confident, secure, brave, and strong that they could not be belittled or depreciated by opinions?
As a young woman, with a sensitivity about how others perceived my attractiveness despite years of fighting to overcome it, a man, whom I cared a great deal about, in anger and cowardice, echoed the sentiments of the eighth grade boy and boy from high school.
"You ugly anyways...fat and ugly."
Though it was still a sore spot, I saw those words, and any related opinion, for what they were, a shitty attempt to tear down a formidable opponent.
It doesn't cease to be offensive. It's still utter crap that the go-to, almost instinctive reflex in heated moments with women is to take jabs at some sort of perceived or real physical insecurity. What I find heartbreaking is that for so many of us these tactics are still effective. Insults about our looks can still take us to vulnerable, hurtful places.
If I could go back in time and force sixth grade Kechia to understand that at 26 she wouldn't even remember his name and his opinion shouldn't matter, I would. I can't. I can say to every girl and woman, please hear me.
You are beautiful! Period!
Any voice, internal or external, that contradicts this is a lie. May you grow invulnerable to those lies, and so damn receptive of this truth. From elementary to eldership, may you be confident, secure, brave, and strong enough not to be belittled or depreciated by others' opinions.
