Maria’s Manifesto
Maria sent in this piece, called “Bigger Than My Body,” which she wrote “after spending a great deal of time lurking BFD.” She graciously said I could repost it here. There are references to sexual violence, so consider this a trigger warning. Thank you for your bravery, Maria; thank you for sharing this with us.
I love my body. I am no sex kitten. I am not a supermodel. I am fat, and generally regarded as unattractive because of it. Vanity is not the most important function of skin and muscle, as some would believe. I love my body because when my spirit is beaten down into the earth and my mind does not want to work through another day, it perseveres. My legs, pale and large as they are, carry me faithfully through each day. They carry me through triumphs and tragedies. They carry me through crowds that would hate me because of my double digit pant size, and they carry me towards the future with unwavering strength. The dangle over the side of the bed each morning, begging to touch the ground and move through the motions they have grown so familiar with over nineteen years.
My spine keeps straight, and climbs under my skin gracefully. It keeps my head held high when I am ready to crack, and keeps my posture hopeful when I would rather curl up and sleep. It is framed by broad shoulders that have held the weight of the world many times over, shoulders that will not fall in fear of a world that will not relent. Underneath are my arms, scarred with souvenirs of teenage angst. The skin stretched across them is marked and discolored, covered many times over by lines that speak more clearly of my anger than my voice ever will. Those scars hold stories that my lips keep hidden far behind my teeth. They hold stories of my body being ripped apart by a man much older than me, forcing his own body into mine. They hold stories of my rage, my hope, and my resilience. My arms are scorned for being so torn, but they have succeeded in holding me together when I was absolutely certain that my life was falling apart.
My heart pumps blood whether I want it to or not. When my father lost his own body to a savage cancer, it worked and worked, urging me to keep moving. It built itself back together when the realities of a harsh life threatened to rip down the very foundations of my family. The rib cage protecting it holds what hope I have left in the world. Those bones hold more than I would like to admit. They hold the heart, of course, but more intangibly they hold my spirit. They hold every memory, even those I would rather forget. They are wrapped with a mind that does not work in terms of black and white, only shades of gray. They hold happiness and sorrow juxtaposed. They hold insecurity and strength as one.
My brain tells me when being rational is more important than giving up. It carries information like a vault, never letting anything slip through. It locks conversations and old friends deep inside, waiting to relay necessary bits to my mouth. It helps me sort out the good from the bad, the fact from fiction. It helps me to realize that other people cannot control my happiness. It forces me to think ahead, always with the idea that someday, I will be able to overcome what life has thrown in my direction. It tells me that someday, memories of sexual abuse, family violence, a rotting father, and losing faith will be fodder for the fire that burns inside me. It tells me, simply, that someday everything truly will be alright.
My body may not glide gracefully down a catwalk. It may never be draped in high fashion clothing. It may not ever feel the touch of a man with my mouth’s consent. Those things are not important. My body has done much more than I ever could have asked for it. It has carried me through hell and back. It has survived levels of darkness that some people never dream of. It has taken me to happiness, and never has it failed me. My body is mine, and I love it, stretch marks and all.
Posted by mo pie
Filed under: Fat Positive, Guest Post
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I don’t know what to write other than to thank you for sharing your story. You write beautifully.
I so needed this right now. Thank you, Maria.
I just burst into tears.
That was so painfully and beautifully written.
Thank you.
Beautiful!
Thank you Maria! What insight! Are you really only 19?! Ya, well, a childhood like that will ripen one’s sageness before their time; believe me, I KNOW! Best to you; keep writing! :o)
Such a well-written and insightful piece from someone so young. Thank you Maria for helping me refocus and what is important about my body.
Every time I read a blog post where an amazingly strong woman complains about the sags and lines and curves of their bodies, I want to scream. Thank you, Maria, for seeing what a powerful gift your body is and for loving it without apology.
Seconding Sybil — only 19? And that brilliant of a writer already?? WOW. Very, very nicely done. :D
Well holy snap. Thank you for sharing this and I wish you all the best on your journey to where everything will be ‘alright’.
I am not a contributor to this website or any other, so I am not familiar with established conventions about acceptable questions or comments. In light of this, I will simply state that if we were to ever meet in person, I would invite you over to visit and enjoy being alive with me — I feel your presence would be one to cherish.
Thank you for sharing this. I have NEVER thought of my body like that. What a brave girl she must be. Wow.
That was simply amazing! I’d quote it and use it everywhere, but I can’t due to reasons I can’t really mention. I’ve been through a lot of similar things, and I find inspiration in this story!
Wow.
Beautiful!
“My arms are scorned for being so torn, but they have succeeded in holding me together when I was absolutely certain that my life was falling apart.”
Amazing. We’re the same age & I can only dream of being able to write down my thoughts the way you have.
Maria you are absolutely brilliant. And also strong, and beautiful, and gutsy. Brava!
As a body positivity advocate, it is so easy to get wrapped up in the arguments about how fat bodies *can* be healthy, pretty, and sexually appealing. And while I firmly believe those things are true, it’s nice to be reminded that they’re not actually that important. What’s important, what’s marvelous, is that our bodies exist at all, providing a home for our minds and spirits, and a way for us to experience the world.
That is beautiful. Just beautiful.
Maria, thank you so much. You write beautifully and it’s a privilege to be able to share your story.
Absolutely stunning. You have incredible talent; thank you so much for sharing.
My God, I so want to kill all men, to pay them off for all turtures and a lot more. To deluge them in boiling water. I want them all to die.
Maria, I can only echo what has been said previously. I applaud you for your bravery in sharing your experience and eloquent words to describe some of the most appalling acts. My heart goes out to you and at the same time I want to thank you for reminding me that we are all more than the sum of our bodies. It really is time to stop hating our bodies and ourselves and to celebrate in our own magnificence. I hope you continue to write, as you clearly have a talent. I wish you a lifetime of happiness.
That was beautiful. I also am 19 and feel much the same way. I’ve struggled with abuse, but I’ve learned to overcome it, and believe myself when people tell me I’m pretty. Keep writing, you have a gift.
Thanks for sharing these lovely thoughts!