Why my 12-year-old self needed this
Growing up, I did not have much say in what I got to wear.
My image was defined by my parents and their religious and cultural upbringing rather than my own individualism.
Like many other women, my body was sexualized at a very young age. My physique developed early. I grew taller than most boys and girls in my classes and developed curves before my mother did when she was my age.
I was barely 12 when I started gaining unwanted attention from men in the form of glances that would last too long or outwardly being catcalled as my mother and I would be out running errands. It was soon after this that my mother started buying me baggier tops as a means to conceal my body.I didn’t understand why I was no longer allowed to wear my favourite shirts or opt for my regular sizes when she took me to the mall. Was it the men staring at me? Did she think it was my fault that they did that?
I was taught at a very early age what parts of my body I should cover from the world, making me ashamed of the way my body was developing. It made me wish that my body would stop growing; it made me want to shrink down to the point of undetectability.
Over the years, I understood that my mother had her reasons. She not only had to raise a daughter in a country she had just moved to, but she had to do so while feeling the pressure of keeping her religious and cultural upbringing in tact. To her, being a Muslim Canadian meant that she must integrate into Canadian culture while maintaining the outward appearance of a visibly modest Muslim family.However, this visible modesty made my experience as a Canadian immigrant confusing, to say the least. My mind would be at a constant battle between what I want to wear and what I was taught my clothes said about me and the kind of attention I wanted to attract.
I realize now that the chaos in my mind was not about restrictions on what I wanted to wear, but rather how these restrictions made me feel about my body. It made me feel like I should be hiding my shape because it is an invitation for men to look at my body. It made me feel like wearing form-fitting clothes gave men the right to my body because I was showcasing all that they longed for.
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On April 2, I took part in SlutWalk Guelph alongside supporters from all walks of life. The walk protested the sexism in our society and the effects it has on women and how they feel about their bodies.
We marched to end slut shaming, victim blaming, and rape culture. We marched to take back the word “slut,” that is so often used to degrade women for the clothes they wear and what they choose to do with their bodies.For the first time, I truly believed my own words as I would argue with my mother. The allies I marched with made me feel secure in my body and my womanhood. The words spoken by the various speakers reassured me that my body does in fact belong to me, no matter how I was made to feel about the male attention it received. The colourful signs held by the protestors reflected the chants of solidarity blaring through the megaphones.
It was amid this chanting and screaming that I finally felt at peace.
Photo by Dana Bellamy/The Ontarion