Shame, girl! Shame

I am a woman. I’m of average height, and around 175 pounds. I’m what today’s world labels “thick”, “curvy”, or my least favorite I’ve been called: “PAWG” which stands for “phat ass white girl”. I started developing my “womanly body” in middle school, and by high school I had size c cups and a “bubble butt”, as my grandma would always call it. I‘m painting this mental picture of me, because this body I have is the reason I’ve been taught to feel shame from a young age. My religious upbringing was in the Apostolic Christian community. The extremely conservative lifestyle A.C.’s follow comes from their literal interpretation of the Bible’s teachings. Patriarchy is upheld strongly, men are the “head of the household” and every position of leadership in the church is held by a man. The exception is the kitchen where the women do any cooking and cleaning, and serve the food and drinks at the lunch served between the 2 sermons each Sunday. Modesty is, first and foremost, the thing drilled into developing girl’s brains. But the first shame I experienced happened much before I was a developing pre-teen. I can’t say for sure my exact age, but I couldn’t have only been more than 3-5 years old. It was at a A.C. ran daycare, so it was right before or during my preschool days. I remember these trampoline-like cots and small cotton blankets they would have all of us kids line up in rows and lay down for a nap. Then they would turn the lights off with only one in a back room on for some visibility. Two older boys, both from my church, told me to follow them, and led me into the a bathroom without any staff noticing. One of the boys was a friend’s older brother and 5-6 years older than me. I remember them standing a good head or two taller than me. I remember the sink to my right and the pale yellow stall doors to my left, while they stood between me and the door. W. Told me to unbutton my jeans. I did it, not really understanding why I was asked to and feeling like I had to. He then told me to pull them down and my underwear. They were both smiling at me. I don’t remember feeling necessarily scared, just confused. He started tugging on my jeans so I pulled them part way down, exposing myself. They both crouched down and starting touching my labia giggling and whispering to each other. I started getting scared and embarrassed and tried to pull my pants up, but W. Pulled them back down and kept touching me. The door suddenly swung open, and the daycare owner saw what was happening. She immediately grabbed the boys, and called for another worker to deal with them. She knelt down in front of me buttoning my jeans, and told me I was very bad for showing those boys my private parts and letting them touch me. I was taken to another room and sat in this chair with a locking bar across it so that I couldn’t get out. The room was full of stacked up chairs, and I was put in the back corner with the lights turned out and the door left cracked for a small amount of light. I remember staring so hard at the sliver of light casting on the floor to avoid looking at the darkness around me. I was so confused and scared, and it was probably the first time I felt shame because of my body. As I developed into a curvy young teen, the shame over the sexuality of my body was constantly being reminded to me by family members and the Sunday school teachings. I wore long skirts, or nothing shorter than at the knee. I wore shirts sized to big to try and hide my large breasts and curvy hips. It was drilled into me that it was my Job to protect my fellow A.C. boys and men from feeling lust and sinning. My dad was a big preacher of this. I remember one time when I was about 16 we were playing basketball in Mexico on a mission trip. He pulled me aside to tell me to go change my shirt because the neck of a regular T-shirt dipped enough that he could see I was wearing a sports bra, and could see some cleavage when I dribbled the ball. The absolute embarrassment and shame I felt in a baggie T-shirt and long shorts was so strong and deep. The fact my father pointed it out really deepened the shame. It was my fault that men looked. It was my fault, that in my modest clothes, men viewed me as a sexual creature. I recently had a personal experience happen that really opened a dam of repressed feelings of shame and fear and embarrassment over my body and it’s relationship to men. I’m not ready to talk about that experience in this post, as this one was heavy to articulate. But I know it is time to start talking about it, or at least write about it. To gain some clarity, to perhaps heal some old wounds, and to continue loving and accepting all 175 pounds of my curves for me and no one else.

Forest Queen

sorry what you went through.. it’s indeed not fair to you.

1 reply

@journalsecret and then in so many ways I’m lucky to have the life I have despite these things. I know I need to face them and deal with them, because then I can grow personally and be a better mom, partner, friend, and human in general. Some of my biggest fears coming from having sisters and a little niece raised in the church and how they view themselves in relationship to their husbands and role in life. Thank you for your kindness, I truly appreciate it.

Heffay

I’m very sorry about you went through. That is truly awful.

@heffay ❤️❤️Your support is so appreciated.

Alfalfa Castle

Oh Honey. Your body is a gift and should be loved. I, too, developed early and was told I was “too sexy” even though I wore (mostly) modest clothes. If we lived back in the day, you would be celebrated for your good figure. I wish you the very very best and remember: You are lovable!!

@novembercirese I’m so lucky to have a partner who lifts me up and loves me the way I am, in some ways that has shed even more light on the wrongness of my upbringing, and how much I’ve been avoiding dealing with it. That is why I am here. To face those fears and misconceptions about myself, and hopefully maybe help others in the same situation. ❤️