God Forbid I let My Body Be

I look through my closet and debate which is worse: for me to choose a low-cut shirt that will not rub against and therefore irritate my neck or for me to choose a collared shirt that is just tight enough for the imprint of my nipples to be visible. Which is more unprofessional? Which is more taboo?

During the last semester, I have been trying to go braless as an effort to feel more comfortable. Ever since my GI doctor told me to avoid tight clothes, I happily chucked my skinny jeans and tight skirts into donation bins and replaced them with jeans made for pregnant women and loose-fitting bottoms that wouldn't irritated my almost-always bloated belly. For some reason that I'm guessing consists of internalized misogyny and fear of public shame (especially as a teacher, a profession that is overly sexualized in ways that disgust me), it has been harder for me to chuck my bras like I did with my tight pants and skirts. Ironically, I think my tight bras hurt way more than my jeans did when I was bloated. They should have been the first to go.

It has always bothered me how inadvertently sexualized I could be at any given time. I could wear a skirt that went past my knees and still be told by a high school student that my butt was big. I could wear long-sleeved shirts and wide-legged clearance slacks from JCPenney and still be told in front of my class during reading time that I'd be "even hotter if I got my pussy pierced." I could roam the mall in a long winter coat while my ex possessively clasped his hand around my butt cheek, insisting other men were too interested in me. It was as if nothing I did or didn't do to wrestle my innocent body could save me from judgment. I was sexy. I was an object. I was a slut. For no reason other than existing, others saw me in all the ways I didn't want to be seen.

I tried to manage my body differently throughout the years. If I didn't want to put on a shirt in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, as insisted by my parents, I would silently rush in the darkness to the bathroom like Gollum to his precious, hoping not to be caught. I tried dressing comfortably in tank tops, a black hoodie, and hand-me-down bootcut jeans. I tried dressing lady-like despite hating having to cross my legs every time I wore a skirt. I tried dressing overly formal in hopes other teachers, students, and parents would respect me despite my youth. I tried dressing in whatever form-fitting clothes my ex begged me to wear. Nothing seemed to prevent me from being shamed.

As bras grew more and more uncomfortable for me, I decided to do an experiment, much like I did when I dyed my hair blonde in hopes of not being mistakenly racialized as a Native American. I decided to stop wearing bras, but as time went on I would change from baggier, more conservative clothes to tighter, more low-cut tops that felt good. I thought to myself, "If somebody said anything, I could Title IX them at school. I could report them to HR at work. I could play stupid if it became a topic of discussion." My biggest fear was being sexually harassed by my students again, or losing my job because of lack of adherence to dress code standards. I've been tired of managing my body just to feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I might as well manage it how I like to.

So this semester, I sought out to transition from trapped in the body to free to be as is. Perhaps I could be looked down upon for managing my body how I liked to: my eyebrow piercings, many tattoos, and blue hair. Perhaps I could be looked down upon for not managing my body how others likes: my unshaved legs and armpit hair, my titties freely resting on my chest without restraint, and my voice naturally stuck at teacher volume. However, I have never felt better about myself. Yes, I doubt my first impressions, but I exist for more than to be looked at and judged. I exist in spite of how my body feels and looks. God forbid I let my body be, but there's no better way to exist. I hope all my watchers continue to say nothing. Judge me in private. I'm fine by that. Judge me to my face, and I am prepared to judge you back. Let. My. Body. Be.

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