Streaks of gold sift through the slits of wood as I wake to feel the warmth caress my face.

Lips brushing against my forehead with silken kisses gently encouraging me to open my eyes.

A quiet conversation while slowly sipping cinnamon tea. I feel the heat in the curve of my hand as it transfers from my favorite ceramic mug.

Bringing me peace as I embrace the tranquility of the moment. The aroma enveloping my senses and perfuming the room.

I casually let my fingers slide over my wardrobe as I create my ensemble for the day.

The beauty of feeling unhurried and able to relish in the pleasure of selecting garments showcasing my individuality.

I fold my body into my girl, a brilliant blue Jeep, made naked as to relish the scents of spring and the whispers of the wind.

The destination not the priority. A leisurely excursion to escape the restlessness.

Taking in the warm breeze on a sunny afternoon. The radio playing my favorite songs, bringing back memories of times past.

The path followed as I sail through the countryside leaving thoughts of my younger years and dreams left along the way.

Stopping midday at a favorite cafe to indulge in a meal with my closest friend.

The conversation bringing joy to my soul as we talk lightly and laugh loudly without reservation.

Smiling as I head back home with the hours on the backside of the day. Time moving slowly and shadows appearing as the miles drift by.

I lace my shoes and head out into nature to indulge in the solitude of running alone. This too invoking feelings of pure satisfaction.

Allowing for silent meditation and a chance to release the burdens held within. The one true moment of peace as I feel the calmness radiating throughout my body.

As day cascades into night I welcome the quiet of the evening with the one I hold dear.

Welcomed home with a sweet embrace. The beauty of detailing our day in an encouraging exchange.

The sun slowly fading and capturing the last remnants of this beautiful moment in time.

I climb into the comfort of our bed with the arms of my beloved pulling me near.

I drift off knowing I wouldn’t change a thing. Time stands still as I recall the perfect day.

My day could start in ashen gray
like dried-up winter weed bouquets,
but then my grandson shrieks, “Mammay!”
and color swirls in rich array.

A fingerpainted masterpiece
infused with snacks and sweetened tea–
bright backdrop for the tales we read,
immersed in toddler fantasy.

Flamboyant toys conceal the floor,
confetti from a plastic war
that ranged from couch to Singapore–
and now he begs to go outdoors.

Bemusement stains pale cherub cheeks
and nature springs delighted shrieks
when stones splash into frothy creeks
or bluebird skies frame honking geese.

Aweary fingers grab my hand,
for will alone cannot withstand
the golden grains of sleepy sand;
I lull him into lala land.

Reflection on this drowsing dear
who celebrates with heartfelt cheer
the wonderment of Gaia’s sphere
is every dark mood’s rainbow cure.

I stayed in bed
until I reached
the outskirts of morning.

The birds gave pep talks
instead of songs.

I got changed
and found ten dollars
in my pocket.

It’s summer but it rained
and I wonder why nobody
has made laundry powder
that smells exactly like this.

I make the perfect eggs.

The toaster
that loves to burns the edges
leaves them edible.
I thank it for its kindness.

I go outside and jump in a puddle.
There is still that childhood dream
that it will be a portal
to an alternative dimension.
One where Netflix didn’t cancel the OA.
One where we could trade
our sadness for money.
Gosh, would I be filthy rich.

Me and the neighbour
do our awkward dance.
The small talk jive.
We bow and say
‘have a nice day!’
We really mean it.

I walk to the coffee shop
and the sky is still
rubbing sleep from its eyes.

The wind is playing solos
on telephone wires.

I hold the door for a stranger
and we share a smile.

I tell the barista a joke
and we both laugh
at how unfunny it is.

I take the ten dollars
and order a flat white, one sugar.
I say keep the change.

I find a bench, and I ruminate.

I realise
Happiness is right here –
why are we crying
like it is so far away?

I wish I could wake up in the morning
To a house that’s prepped and made
No dishes or mess to clean up
The laundry is folded and put away

I wish that I was understood
That my efforts were noticed
And in return the context clues I love to scatter
Get swept up by loved ones
Offering to return the favor

I wish that I could walk the streets late at night
No mace or pepper spray in my line of sight
My keys are meant to unlock my door
Not clenched between my knuckles
Waiting to be bore

I wish that I could shake the hands
Of each passerby I encounter
Grinning widely from cheek to cheek
Exchanging pleasantries and
our hopes for the future
Morals aligning and feeling at ease
Knowing many people feel the same as me

I wish I had one perfect day
To rest and partake in hobbies
No work to stress
Just reading my favorite books in hotel lobbies
I would sing and dance and play in the rain
No anger left, no unresolved pain

Because womanhood is often a burden
That at times feels like a tyrant warden
Patiently waiting until my time is served
And knowing my aptitude is mildly absurd
But I often hope for the little things
Because to me they feel like extraordinary wins
And when this mindless duty is fulfilled
My perfect day will be without guilt

Dear reader,
I still struggle with body dysmorphia.
But in 2021, I started wearing tiny clothes. For the first time ever.
I’ve been many different sizes since my teens, but I’ve always been shaped the same. I was a chunky kid, or a curvy girl. Even in the height of my eating disorder, my bone structure never changed. The shape of my scapulae, the curve of my rib cage, or how close its end is to my pelvic bone’s beginning; these parts of me don’t move, so size didn’t always “fix” things. My fat distribution never changed much, either (hormone problems also contribute to that). I was always a “thick thighs save lives” girl with a big butt, even if there were less adipose cells than before.
I felt deformed. Being raised in the early 2000s, this meant my whole life was a story of “Clothes Never Fit Right”. A story of my mom buying me women’s clothes at age 14 because the clothes my peers wore were too small. A story of being laughed at when I wore low-rise skinny jeans that gave me a “plumber butt”. A story of being called Britney Spears by a classmate because a button-up shirt I wore that day was a bit more form-fitting. (Which is a ridiculous insult, by the way. Britney is a queen.) It was also a story of seeing women being vilified for having a body that looked like a body. Every woman had to be paper thin.
When I was 11, the 2007 VMAs splattered the news with Britney Spears’s performance. My dad nonchalantly said that Britney was “maybe skinny for a mom but still fat for a woman”. He said that to his 11-year-old daughter.
I was insecure for so, so long.
Then comes 2021. After a pandemic shutdown that kept most of us at home for months, I’m an adult. I’m well past the eating disorder. I’ve graduated college. I make my own money. Screw it, I’m now just going to wear what I want. I’m officially not dependent on anybody else.
I wore Aerie leggings with a crop top. This was a new combination for me, and one that was trendy at the time. I was self-conscious at first; and worried about what my mom would think. She never would’ve let me leave the house wearing something like that growing up. I had been wearing the oversized T-shirt and Nike shorts combination for years.
I definitely spent way longer than I want to admit still sucking in my tummy. I spent way longer than I want to admit worrying about the shape of my butt, or my thighs rubbing together.
But it was so comfortable.
So over time, I adjusted.
My belly was out, every curve and line where everyone could see. My butt looked phenomenal. My thighs were being gently hugged by each other and the leggings with every step. Even my back rolls played peek-a-boo if I needed to reach something from a high shelf.
You could see pretty much every part that I’d been forced to hide before. I was the most visible I had ever been.
After a decade of either squishing everything in with Spanx, or completely hiding under a babydoll dress: leggings and a crop top freed me. I finally saw my body in real time. Every soft bit, I knew exactly what it looked like. I knew exactly what I looked like.
It took a while to make peace with certain parts of myself. But I could finally look at every part of me and look at every part put together to form the whole of me and be okay with it. I could finally see me and my body without shame and contortion.
My body dysmorphia is not gone. That part of me may not ever fully heal. But I made progress I’d never made before, because of this. Because of Aerie leggings and crop tops.
This particular method may not be for everyone.
This was the first of many times I’d leave my comfort zone. It definitely felt funny to start. Growth never comes without discomfort.
Looking back now, though, it healed me more than I thought it did.