I stumbled across an amazing Instagram account called Cute Cat Calls. Nothing more horrifying on this Halloween than being cat called down the street and honked at while sipping on your latte. There’s nothing more terrifying than walking down a street filled with male construction workers who all stop what they’re doing and watch you until you’ve turned the corner. I’m telling you, it’s the more uncomfortable and vile thing and it sends a chill down my spine.
The purpose behind Cute Cat Calls is for readers to send their stories and the artist will illustrate their experience. This is a feminist, body positive, stop sexualizing everything we do, kind of Instagram account and I have to say, I love it. So, for Halloween, I’ve decided to share two of my own personal horror stories which have shaped the person I’ve become.
The first one dates back to 7th grade. I started going through puberty in 6th grade, but rather than get boobs or my period, I got acne instead. It was very humiliating since all of the other girls were developing in better areas (in my opinion although I’m sure the 7th grader wearing a C cup didn’t like it very much). It first started off with a couple of tiny critters on my chin and forehead, but then quickly developed into craters all over my face. I looked like a slice of swiss cheese.
I tried EVERYTHING. I used all products like Proactive, Neutrogena, StrideX, Clean & Clear, and I even went to the doctor and got prescription. I tried fish oil supplements. I tried facials. I tried toothpaste. Nothing worked. I was still covered in acne. I’m not being dramatic either. There wasn’t a clear spot on my face. There was no use wearing makeup because you could see the mountains and valleys popping up on my cheeks. It got a little bit better once I got to high school but it didn’t fully go away until I started birth control when I was 18.
But I will never forget this one time, at a school dance, a few boys were subtly making fun of me but it didn’t click right away. I never was usually asked to dance at school dances. My friend Lauren tried to get these three boys to agree to dance with me, and awkwardly enough, I was standing right there. All three of them said they would if she paid them. Some wouldn’t do it unless it was at least $20.
Of course, if I could go back in time, I would have loved to just kick them in the ballsack and say, “I’m good. You couldn’t pay me to dance with you anyway.” But I’m 28 now and at the time I was 13, so…two completely different minds.
The second story, however, will probably stick with me forever. I was 19 at the time. I’m 5’1” and at the time, weighed about 110-115 pounds. I was a tiny bean. Before college, I was grossly thin, and not on purpose. I just had a crazy metabolism and I ate like the King of France. I was happy that towards the end of my freshman year, I gained about 5-10 pounds and was at a healthy weight for my height.
I started dating my college boyfriend and one time, I went down to his room and his roommate Mike was there. I’m not sure what provoked this, but Mike pointed to my stomach and said, “You’re getting a little pudgy down there.”
It was the first time someone had ever said anything about my weight. It was the first time someone had ever said anything negative about my weight. I was shocked and not sure what to say or how to react, so I stormed out and was completely devastated.
Ever since then, I’ve had body issues. It didn’t matter if I gained 20-30 pounds or if I lost 20-30 pounds, I still always looked back at my “pudgy” stomach. I’m angry that this person took something away from me. I think back on how I would have turned out if this asshole hadn’t said anything to me. I might have turned out exactly the same, or I would have had a healthier mind and a more positive outlook on myself. I’m angry at myself for allowing this person to have so much power over my mental health.
I’ve stored these memories away for a long time but after looking through this instagram account, they came flooding back and I’m happy that they did. These memories helped me re-evaluate myself and how I view my personality and my body. I still have my insecurities, but now I’m more angry towards the people who felt they had a right to say something about it. I was finally over my acne insecurity, and once I thought I was free, it was replaced by something else.
Please share some insecurity stories so that we can store them in the Asshole Bank together.