my mama and me

(tw/negative self image, misogyny and mentions of disordered eating)

Growing up, I was raised by a mother who hates women. If they wear too much makeup, they're trashy. If they're too thin, they're sick. If they show too much skin, they're whores. Unless you're just like her, you're worthless. 

I grew up with her. Her and her endless dieting, always on Weight Watchers, Atkins, or something similar. So I decided, in the fourth grade, that I would be just like my mama, and gave my lunch away every day. 

When I started wearing makeup, I gauged it with her approval. My goth cousin wore too dark, too much, she was an attention seeker. A classmate's mother wore too much, too cakey, she was a clown. 

My older sister was the worst. The daughter of my father's previous marriage, she wore too much makeup, showed too much skin, and started having babies at nineteen years old. I loved her. I hated her. I missed her and I despised her with all of my being. She was my sister, my family, and I loathed her entirely. 

It's no wonder I find myself judging women on the street. It's no wonder I find myself wiping off my makeup and changing it obsessively when it's too dark, too much. It's no wonder why I hate my body, why I've been trying to starve it out since I was ten years old. It's no wonder why I wear long sleeves in the summertime, and why I hate the sight of my body in a crop top or low-cut blouse.

My mama loves me.

She loves me because I hate myself.