Best In The World

For as long as I can remember, I have looked to the media to know how to be. And the answer remained the same - tall, thin, shiny, and ultimately, together. Seeing all of these images of women that were so idyllic to me made one thing abundantly clear; that wasn't me. So, I cried and shamed myself to a cornmeal until the age of 16 when I met the love of my life. He was the one person who loved every hair on my head (and legs) and, moreover, wanted me to truly love myself.

 My sweet husband has another love that has carried him through his formative years - Professional Wrestling. Over the years, it has brought me hours of elation, vocal cord distress, and, yes, even tears. These athletes twirl, pummel and bare every piece of themselves for our sadistic pleasure. It's really powerful stuff.

 At some point, my attention started to shift toward the women - mostly petite, plastic, and shimmery beings that had to walk into an arena wearing bras and panties. Curiosity turned to anger as I saw, time and time again, all of the men proudly displaying their athleticism in basketball shorts. So, I decided to take the images that brought me such self loathing as a kid - being fat and therefore unworthy - and put them into the body of a fiercely talented female wrestler. To celebrate women's bodies for strength over size, ability over visibility, and let the charge be led by a fat, middle-aged divorcee who thinks, as I did, that being loved, adored and respected required her to have a certain jean size.

 This is for the fat girls that run marathons, eat mac and cheese, and know their self worth. For the girls who feel their dreams are unreachable due to perceived physical limitations. And for the little girl inside me that has truly only wanted to be appreciated for what I am instead of what I am not.