HATING (A PART OF) MYSELF

I’m nervous to write about what I’m about to write about. When it comes to my relationship to my own body, nothing feels settled or clear and I’m scared I might offend or disrupt other people’s journeys by hashing through my own. But I still think there can be value in seeing people work through their issues in real time--even if all it does is give you permission or encouragement to do the same in your own life about your own stuff. So, what exactly is my stuff? In a narrow sense, it’s me trying to come to terms with the two new scars I have on my right knee and the shape of my knees in general. And in a wider sense, it’s me trying to create a healthy relationship with this vessel that gives me life (i.e., my human form).

If any of you have been following me for a while, you’ve probably noticed that my body has changed quite a lot in recent years. I am significantly heavier than I used to be and after years of “looking so young” I am finally looking my age (32!). Every day I try to find a balance between honoring these changes so I don’t avoid them, and not tearing myself down for no longer perfectly fitting into harmful societal standards of beauty (extremely thin and youthful). One of the things that has helped me is completely reconceptualizing my ideas around weight and no longer viewing fat as inherently bad or undesirable. (Shout out to Maintenance Phase for the assist in this area! What a podcast!) I still have work to do around all of this—especially in the aging arena—but I’m feeling optimistic about it.

What I feel less optimistic about is my relationship to my legs. When I had knee surgery as a teenager on my left leg, they were able to do it arthroscopically and the lasting visible results were minimal. You had to look pretty closely to even notice I had something done. The same cannot be said for my right knee. Unless things drastically change as I continue to heal (which might happen!), I now have two significant scars on my right knee, which is fine except I kind of find them disgusting. I also find the shape of my knees in general to be off-putting. They’re both kind of misshapen and—at least to me—not aesthetically pleasing. And I guess the real thing I am wrestling with is whether it’s okay to find a part of my own body disgusting. And--even though this might be controversial--I’m leaning toward yes.

Knees and how they look have always been a part of my life. My mom had similar surgeries when she was in her early twenties that left her with two eight-inch scars. For as long I can remember, she’s hated the way her knees look, and she’s refused to wear anything that will show her knees or highlight their shape. Growing up, I never understood this. The scars and shape of her knees didn’t bother me, so I didn’t see why she needed to limit her wardrobe to hide them. There were so many dresses that were passed over because they came up just a bit too high or pants that were nixed because they were a bit too tight. I honestly found it infuriating. Why not just wear what you want to wear?! Since I’ve gotten older though, my perception around all of it changed. I’m better at accepting other people’s personal decisions and if my mom has a hard line against showing her knees, the only thing I should do is respect it. I don’t need her to “work past” her discomfort and wear things that make her unhappy.

Now that I have my own scars and what I consider to be strangely shaped knees, I too get to decide what my relationship with them will be. On the one hand, I could lean into the “body positivity” movement and try my best to love my scars. To see them as badges of honor or a medical marvel. But that rings false to me. I have a lot of trauma around my knees and when I look at them I don’t feel flooded with self-love. Instead, they remind me that I have knee problems and knee pain and that there now is a dead person’s ligament holding my patella in place. (This last part I am eternally grateful for and think the world of organ donors. But it is still a bit of a mental adjustment to have another person’s body part inside your body.) I am glad that I got the surgery and that I will no longer have to walk around with the fear that I could collapse at any moment. But I do not love my scars or the shape of my knees. And I don’t want to put pressure on myself to suddenly have to in order to have a healthy relationship with myself.

All that said, I have no plans to hide my legs. I’m not planning to change my wardrobe in order to conceal my scars and I don’t worry about grossing other people out if they’re on display. I’m not going to do a lot of research into reducing scars or spend money on fancy creams. My strategy, at least for right now, is to simply accept that there is a part of my body that I don’t like. And, most importantly, I am going to recognize that it’s not that big of a deal that I don’t like it. This dislike doesn’t need to consume me. It doesn’t need to affect my overall self-worth. I don’t need to invest all my time and energy into changing this one part of me. I am more than my body and my body is more than my knees.

Nothing illustrates this better than the fact that I—somehow—ended up with a leg guy. That’s right. A leg guy. In the past, this would have been hard for me to handle. I would have felt guilty for not having “nice” legs and worried that he would leave me for someone with unblemished (and let’s be honest, more toned) stems. Now I mostly find it funny. Like, of course he’s a leg guy. That would happen to me. But that’s pretty much where the thought process stops. I know I bring more to the table then a collection of body parts and I know that he wouldn’t still be here if he didn’t like the full package. Sometimes I wonder if my scars gross him out too. But I don’t know because I haven’t asked. It’s not a question I need to know the answer to.

So that’s where I’m am. I find my own knees kind of gross, and I dislike my legs. But I still love myself. I didn’t really know both those things could be possible at once. I’m thrilled to discover it is.

xoxo,

Allison