Hi, my name is Becca…
…And I have low self-esteem.
I know, it’s not that uncommon. But it’s becoming more apparent to myself (and others, I think) everyday. I wear this damn uniform 5 out of 7 days a week — and I don’t think I look horrible in it, but I never get hit on. And when I inwardly complain about this, it dawns upon me that I’m WISHING guys would stare at me. Aren’t we supposed to hate that?
I think that living in Philly has made me grow accustomed to that kind of attention daily, and fueled something within me that now desires regular reassurance. Once again, I’m appalled by my own thoughts. I’m a 21st century woman — we live in an age of female empowerment, and I have always meant to embody that. Yet we reinforce the opposite constantly: The term “feminist” is scorned, men bitch about estrogen-filled environments, and the struggle for the perfect female body is alive and well in my own house in the form of a 15 year-old with an eating disorder. And here I am, just another example of a girl who needs male attention to feel good about herself.
Have we really gotten anywhere?