linking up with the SheLoves “A Love Letter To My Body” synchroblog today.
Last week, someone told me I had good calves.
It stopped me in my tracks. I grew up hating my curves, my breasts that couldn’t be minimized however hard I tried, and my legs, that were pure Dutch and milkmaid-thick, not reminiscent of a long-legged goddess. They never, ever tanned, either.
I’ve given up on the long legs but learned to appreciate my curves, that turn out to look lovely in a dress. I’ve learned to equate my softness not with weakness, but with strength made better by some vulnerability. But my calves? The best I could do was to ignore them.
But since I’ve heard that, they look different to me. I can see they’re not exactly big, more well defined. I can see that they’re powerful, and get me wherever I need to go. I can see it hardly matters that they’re white–or at the very least, I can blame that on Dutch summers.
I can see a lot more than I used to, and it makes me wonder what else I’m not seeing right.