I have a guilty admission to make.
I shaved two days ago. It was an act of desperation; of scraping off as much of myself i could without hurting myself, without bruising my knees on the bathroom floor and retching up the contents of my stomach.
It wasn't premeditated. It just...happened.
Not shaving is a point of politics and pride for me. It has been a way for me to reclaim my body and show myself that I cannot and will not adhere to standards of beauty that are, to me, obsolete and ridiculous. I don't judge women who do scrape the hair off their legs and armpits and cunts, but it does make me a little sad. When I see other women with hairy armpits and legs, my heart does a bit of a leap and I feel loved and hopeful. This is maybe naive, but it's honestly what i feel.
As i watched these tiny hairs make their way down the drain, i felt this stab of pain and regret, my level-headedness returning to me. What the hell just happened?, i thought.
It was like being in a trance of utter self-loathing. I'm glad that I didn't hurt myself physically, but this really does hurt my heart. I feel weak. Personally, I mean. I don't think other women who shave are weak by any means - but this is something i have spent a lot of time thinking about and have decided is important to me.
it'll grow back, of course.
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2 comments:
heart goin' out to you, cheepcheep. thank you for this post. i've struggled with a hair removal-related OCD for over a decade, and definitely remember those painful feelings of weakness and guilt when you come out of the self-loathing trance. ijust wanted to share that, and for what it's worth, lemme reaffirm with you that it always grows back. sometimes knowing that is all that got me through :)
thank you so much, leah, for sharing my vulnerability with me. and...i need to hear all about your nyc adventures!!
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