Quarter-life Puberty

For the entirety of my life as an adult woman, I have had the body of an androgynous prepubescent. I was simply straight lines and sharp edges–waifish and hollow to the point of asexuality. This was a convenience in every sense other than physical well being. Osteopenia and lack of white blood cells were merely logistical necessities when faced with the horrifying possibility of having a body that curved. I was a neutral being in a world that craves something to grab–to claw at. 

I am 23 now, and going through what I have deemed quarter-life puberty. This wonderfully awkward process is very much real for those of us whose aversion to inhabiting a body has led to clinically diagnosable relationships with food and exercise. Though not necessary for the diagnosis or self-destruction caused by any of these disorders, Anorexia, Bulimia, Orthorexia, EDNOS, ARFID–disordered eating–can lead to a body quite literally behind the curve. 

The past year of my life has included more food than I previously thought could fit down my throat and into my god forsaken stomach. My body, bless her, has grown in ways that make me look feminine. It’s been beautiful–I do not deny this. I am learning as an adult what many learn in adolescence–or sooner: how to inhabit the heartbreakingly soft body of a woman. 

Gorgeous as it is to have a body capable of producing life–of keeping me safe and warm–it is, in equal measure, dangerous. Instead of habitual movement, my evening walks have become more of a practice in risk taking. True though it is that my own body-awareness causes more fear than actual aggression, there exists a fear I cannot bury.

Last evening a man walked by with a dog–I nodded politely and he returned the gesture. There was nothing to fear–a completely normal interaction. But when he turned and ran in my direction, the world was on fire. I gasped, stumbled, and prepared to run. I knew cold-sweat fear–I could no longer breathe. Only a moment passed before I saw the tennis ball his dog had been gnawing on rolling towards my feet. The man grabbed it, apologizing profusely for scaring me, and continued his very normal stroll. 

I was confused, scared, and disappointed in my own judgement of this man. I realized though, that there was nothing that I could have done to curb this fear, save staying home. It was my softness that scared me. I was no longer comfortable in the safety of straight lines. It wasn’t other people in the dark, but my lack of neutrality that scared me.

I don’t know if time will heal this, dear reader, or if one gets used to it. I didn’t grow into this, but found myself in the middle at 23. I am proud and scared of my body in equal measure, and feel that maybe this is one of many common ailments of being a woman–fear. 

I love you, dear reader. Take care.