Accepting My Booty

I believe that I became truly aware of my body during the eighth grade.

I was involved in some sort of boy drama, as most teenagers were at that stage.  The boy whose attention I wanted was interested in one of my good friends at the time—because she had a nice butt, as I was informed by one of his friends.  I was appalled, and at that age, simply did not understand.

“Don’t get me wrong, we’ve all said that you’re okay, too,” his friend said. 

That did not comfort me whatsoever.  At that moment, I felt inadequate.  If I was not enough for this guy, I thought in my eighth grade mind, then why would I be enough for anybody?  Thus, the self-consciousness began.

My first couple years of high school were a blur of new friendships, new relationships and major adjustments.  By the time my junior year rolled around, my hips had widened and I had filled out more, causing me to go up about three jean sizes.

My friends whom I was surrounded by remained skinnier than ever despite the passing of time, with few curves and size zero jeans and dresses that they could all pass around and share. When I compared myself to them, I thought there was something extremely wrong with me. I felt fat, abnormal, and unattractive. Why would anyone ever want someone like me, I remember thinking, when much thinner girls surrounded me?

Our girl Kourtney loves her curves now, and is no longer ashamed of her bootylicious-ness.

Then, a friend of mine made a comment one day that year that sent me spiraling further into my self-consciousness of my curves.  I had gone ice skating one weekend and a picture was taken of me from behind and posted on Facebook.  The following Monday, I met up with my friends before school as usual.

“Kourtney!” my friend exclaimed.  “I didn’t know you had a butt!  Turn around!”

I felt embarrassed, ashamed, like this was some action I had been caught guilty of.  The way she said it made it seem like it was something horrible that I was able to fill out my jeans, that I have curves.  I cried when I got home from school that day, unsure of the way I should feel about myself and confused about how I should react to others’ comments.  

From then on, I received attention that I never necessarily enjoyed.  One day, after an afternoon at the beach in Chicago with a group of my friends, we walked back along the sidewalks to make it to the train station. We weaved through numerous people that day, but one in particular stands out in my mind. As we walked past, he slowed down and made it obvious that he was checking out my butt.

“Shoot!” he shouted, shaking his head in amazement and continuing on.  My friends found it hysterical that some random guy on the street noticed my butt, but I found it better to ignore it and just continue on with my day.  I never enjoyed the extra attention; it simply did not make sense to me.

College is when I really grew to accept my curves and who I am because of them. Of course, there have been instances where I feel too noticed or as though they make me seem fatter. I remember one day walking through the halls of my dorm with a friend and the guy that I liked. I was ahead of them, and my friend commented on my butt.

“Kourtney, I don’t mean to sound rude, but your butt looks really good in those shorts,” she said.

“Why would that be rude?” the guy defended me, lifting my spirits. 

To be honest, this small exchange of words helped me the most to embrace what I have.  My friend complimented me that what I was wearing accentuated my most hated feature, and the guy confirmed that there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.  Finally, I felt at peace with my body. 

Looking back, I would compare my perception of my body to a teeter-totter.  Throughout my teenage years, it was very difficult to find just the right balance of self-acceptance.  In my mind, my body was always either insufficient or unattractive, or too much and far too noticeable. 

Yet I have come to realize that the only person’s opinion that matters is my own.  People will ridicule me for the way I look or infatuate themselves with it, but in the end, people come and go. It is me that I will always be stuck with, so I figured, why not come to terms with what I have?  This attitude, this mindset, has led me to fully accept that I am the way I am, no matter what.  And despite what anyone might say, I am beautiful.

Now, the teeter-totter has found its balance.