The new religion of skinny
by Ems Hudson
well here we are ladies
our hormones have abandoned the building
our ovaries have handed in their notice
and somewhere inside us
a small exhausted woman
is sitting on the bathroom floor
wondering why she is suddenly sweating
while doing absolutely nothing
we are running on half a cup
of coffee
half a night's sleep
and whatever remains
of the woman we used to be
we have reached the age
where we finally understand ourselves
where we have made peace with bread
stopped counting almonds
and learned that eating a burger
does not require a confession
we survived the low fat yoghurt
the cabbage soup
the scales
the little calculations
we performed in our heads
every time we put something in our mouths
we grew up
we got older
we learned to live inside our bodies
without treating them like a failed experiment
and then
the needle arrived
and suddenly the world was interested
in making women smaller again
the celebrities are disappearing
into their own photographs
the internet is full of miraculous waists
and women who look as though
someone has gently erased them
at the school gate
in the staffroom
over coffee
the conversation has changed
have you tried it
are you going to try it
how much have you lost
as though we have discovered
the secret to eternal life
and not simply another way
to make a woman question herself
in front of a mirror
and I stand there
in my perfectly good bra
with a hot flush climbing my neck
like a small personal apocalypse
wondering when my body
became a public consultation
I lift weights
I eat my protein
I try to sleep
I take the supplements
I forget why I entered the kitchen
and find myself standing there
with the fridge open
like a woman waiting for divine intervention
my metabolism has gone into retirement
without informing me
my patience is somewhere
under a pile of washing
and my hormones
are setting fire to the furniture
while I pretend
everything is perfectly normal
I am not trying to be twenty again
I have already been twenty
and frankly
the woman was exhausted
she worried about her thighs
her stomach
her face
the space she occupied
the space she was permitted to occupy
she thought that if she could only become
a little prettier
a little thinner
a little less herself
the world might finally
let her rest
I do not want her back
I want the woman who survived her
the woman who finally learned
that a body is not an apology
but here comes the new religion
with its tiny needles
its before and after photographs
its promises whispered
into the softest parts of our insecurity
and I wonder how many times
a woman must be sold
the same old shame
before she recognises the packaging
there is nothing wrong
with choosing the jab
there is nothing wrong
with wanting to feel different
or making decisions about your own body
but there is something terribly sad
about the world making us feel
that even now
after everything
we have not quite earned
the right to be comfortable
in our own skin
we have spent decades
trying to become acceptable
and now
when we should be learning
to leave ourselves alone
the goalposts have moved again
do not wrinkle
do not soften
do not spread
do not look like time
has had the audacity
to touch you
I would like to know
what exactly we are supposed to do
with all these years
if we must spend them
trying to erase the evidence
I want to grow older
without feeling that every change
is a problem requiring treatment
I want to eat a burger
without hearing the distant voice
of a woman I used to be
counting the calories
I want to stand in the sunlight
with my ordinary human body
and feel no urgent need
to improve the view
because we are not failed versions
of our younger selves
we are the whole story
the ridiculous
the beautiful
the sleepless
the furious
the women who have carried children
careers
marriages
grief
and shopping bags
that cut into their fingers
we are still here
even with our disappearing oestrogen
our inexplicable tears
our sudden hatred of noise
and the peculiar sensation
that our own skin
has become a badly managed hotel
we are still here
and perhaps that is the point
not to become smaller
not to turn back time
not to disappear so successfully
that the world congratulates us
but to take up the space
we have spent our lives
trying to apologise for
so here we are ladies
our ovaries are retiring
our hormones are behaving
like drunken tenants
and half of us have forgotten
what we came into the room for
we are running on half a cup
but perhaps
for the first time in our lives
we can stop pouring ourselves out
to satisfy everyone else
perhaps we can leave the cup
exactly where it is
and sit down
and rest
without needing to lose a single thing
to deserve it
Published on the Writory Wall.