Bras, Zits & Elephants - A Love Letter to our Bodies

stephanierp4
Feb 5
2 min read

Legally blind, dodgeballs smashed into my face before I ever saw them coming.

Pigeon-toed, I tripped over my own feet and wore corrective shoes until I was twelve.

I was… not cool.

But in the dance studio, my blind, tiny, bendy frame became an asset. I could repeat a movement until I looked almost coordinated. It worked.

And then—puberty.

An uninvited guest who showed up with bras, pads, tampons, hips, and a chest that jiggled when I moved (rude). My tights indent revealed a mysterious band of mushy waist flesh under my leotard. Where did that come from?

At fourteen, my ballet teacher divided the class into two groups for a dance: little mice and elephants. When she tossed me in with the pachyderms, I burst into tears.

Looking back, several of my PE and dance teachers probably deserved a corrective whack with a rubber hose. But at the time, no one questioned it. Everyone else seemed fine. My body was the problem.

Don’t even get me started on dancing through cramps, worrying about break-free bleeding, or performing with a bright red zit on the end of my nose. The list of things females put up with is absurd, and I fully intend to take it up with God when I see her.

What took me years to understand is this:

None of this was isolating. It was universal.

We all have parts of our bodies we’d like to renegotiate. Most of us wrestle with negative self-talk. Unhampered by popularity or made-up social status, zits, cramps, soft middles, and awkward growth phases come for everyone.

And where there is shared experience, there is room for humor.

And compassion.

And community.

This is especially true for women, who are taught early—and relentlessly—to critique themselves. But when we start talking honestly about our bodies instead of silently battling them, something powerful happens. We realize we are not broken. We are normal. We are strong. And we are not alone.

February is the month of love, so let’s widen the lens. Let’s start with self-love—the kind that shows up in the dance classroom, at home, and in how we speak to ourselves when no one else is listening.

Here’s what that looks like:

1. Talk to yourself with respect and love.If you wouldn’t say it to your best friend, don’t say it to yourself.

2. Use the mirror as a tool, not a weapon.Mirrors are for alignment and awareness—not self-abuse.

3. Practice gratitude for what your body can do.Try this: