I’ve always been ‘the good girl’.
A good girl is meek and compliant.
She is seen and not heard.
She does what she’s told.
She is never angry.
A good girl does not have one night stands, she does not enjoy sex, she does not embrace her body.
A good girl dates bad boys because that’s all she’s worth.
A good girl doesn’t stand up for herself, for that means making someone else uncomfortable.
A good girl absorbs unpleasantness on everyone’s behalf. She gulps it up like pale milky tea from her pale pink china tea cup.
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I’ve been aware of my body since I was about eleven, when an older boy at school first told me I had ‘sexy legs’. I was a nerdy wallflower tomboy, so I enjoyed being seen. Then.
When I turned 18 and started clubbing, I started getting the kind of attention that made me uncomfortable. Granted, a few drinks in and I was up for a good time – on the dance floor. (Still to this day, no one night stands TYVM.)
When I was seen by boys out in bars, they would say a variation of one or more of these:
“The things I’m going / I’d like to do to you…”
“I can’t wait to take you home and dominate you.”
“You’re hot. I want your number so I can fuck you later.”
Aca-what?
And still to this day, cat calls and horn honks while I’m out running.
Good girl never had the voice to defend herself. She simply shut down. Because, ‘maybe that is all I am worth.’ A fuck.
People would say to me, “I don’t know why you’re single. So many guys want to date you.”
Aah, no. Guys wanted to fuck me. Same same?
In addition to my sexy legs and fuckable body, I was blessed with intelligence and a good heart. Two things I value more than the skin encasing me. So in the workplace, I hid my body. I amplified my non-threatening ‘good girl’ persona with loose fitting greys and browns and blacks. I wanted my brains to be recognised and rewarded. But hiding myself and denying my #femininity has had disastrous impacts on my sense of self, self-love and self-worth.
Sixteen-plus adulting years rejecting my true self, my body; devaluing my sensuality. Until I started doing the work. I started foraging and learning more about the me that feels genuinely me.
Meditation enhanced my self-awareness. Burlesque helped locate my confidence and sensuality. As did two lovers. But mostly, it was embracing my solitude and re-learning my love of being alone… And France.
Sixteen months after this journey began, I posed naked for a stranger to shed my skin and honour my fuckable body. And it is bloody hard being a nude model – it was a 90 min high intensity yoga class. I ached in weird places for two days.
However, see me.
See my strength. See my femininity. See my grace.
This is my power. And now, I roar.