Flat Abs

Do you have flat abs?

I grit my teeth as I see him send this message for a second time. I skipped over it the first time, hoping he cared more about my personality than my body but, as usual, that is not the case on Tinder.

What was I expecting? That this handsome guy would care about my personality?​ I roll my eyes and block him.

Typical. Why do I even bother with this?​ My grandmother’s voice rings out in my head during our last visit before I moved halfway across the world to teach internationally: ”You know, your mother would really like grandchildren.” ​Yeah, yeah, but I don’t even know if I want kids anymore.

I’m certainly glad I don’t have them right now during this Coronavirus lockdown.

Do you have flat abs?

That stupid question keeps shoving its way over the protective walls I’ve built in the past 30 years of slowly being torn down by seemingly innocuous comments about my body.

Do you have flat abs?

Is the reason I blocked the Tinder bloke who cared so much about flat abs that he’s an asshole or that I don’t want to answer the question?

Do you have flat abs?

Memories flash before me.

I’m 13 years old, in line to board the airplane, and the ticket agent gives me the full body once-over. “Do you have an ID?” the agent asks. I’m surprised and cringe inside, not sure what to say. This is not the first time someone has mistaken me for being much older than I actually am. My mom saves me: “She’s only 13.”

I’m 10 years old, getting changed with the other girls in the classroom before the play. I try to blend into the bookcase behind me so the other girls can’t see that I’m wearing a bra. ​No one else is wearing a bra. Why am I the one that’s different?

Do you have flat abs?

I’m 20 years old at dinner with my family during their visit to see me play in my college field hockey game. My sister’s been making snide comments about my weight ever since they arrived: “Do you even eat?”

I’m 17 years old at the beach in a bikini. ​God, I’ve never felt comfortable in one of these damn things. My boobs feel like they’re going to fall out at any moment and I HATE MY STOMACH​. My sister again: “Ew! You can see your hip bones!”

Do you have flat abs?

I’m 10 again, running across the gym with my classmates during PE class, holding on to my boobs because they’re bouncing and I’m embarrassed and scared of my changing body. ​Why am I the only girl with boobs? ​I don’t want to admit to myself that I need to wear a bra.

I’m 16 years old, wearing a tankini at the beach and my parents’ friend walks up. ​Man, she’s so athletic and lean and skinny and strong. ​ ​ I want to look just like her.​ Just as I was thinking that, she turns to my mom, complimenting me on my curves, wishing she had curves like I do. I’m confused. ​She’s jealous of ME?

Do you have flat abs?

I’m 12 years old and we’re walking in the Grand Tetons. My dad: “Hey, do you know why this place is called the Grand Tetons? It stands for ‘big boobs.’ Like Rose!” My mom, dad, and sister laugh at me and I burn in embarrassment. ​I wish I didn’t have big boobs. Why do people always comment on them?

I’m 19 years old walking up to my friends in the college lounge. My best friend: “You are SO SKINNY and you STILL have such big boobs! How?!?!”

Do you have flat abs?

I’m 11 years old and I ask for a bathroom break. I never ask to leave class to go to the bathroom. I hate it when everyone’s eyes are on me.

It’s the first day of my period and I hate this damn pad. ​I know that I’m bleeding all over the seat. Everyone will stare at me when I stand up.

They can tell I’m wearing a pad. I bet there’s blood on my pants and everyone will know I’ve gotten my period.

Do you have flat abs?

I’m 30 years old and I haven’t seen my family in six months since I moved to Dubai. ​Will they notice all the hard work I’ve been putting in to be healthy and strong?​ I’ve been tracking my calories for eight months now to lose weight. I’ve lost 15 pounds. My mom: “Your legs look skinny.” I smile and say, “Thanks,” but inwardly cringe. ​Why am I reacting like this? I wanted her to notice. I wanted her to compliment me on the weight I’ve lost. Yeah, I ​ argue with myself​, but I want to be healthy and strong and fit. Why is being skinny associated with health? Why do I look for my mom’s approval on how my body looks and then hate myself when I get it?

Do you have flat abs?

That question has been rolling around in my head for over a week now since the Tinder guy asked it. ​Wow, I’m seriously messed up. I can’t get this question out of my head. ​Memories swirl around me, especially when I’m in that quiet and dark personal space right before you fall asleep, when your mind wanders and thoughts come unbidden towards you.

I don’t have flat abs. But I am still worthy of respect and love.

I shout it in my head to myself and I sob into my pillows as all of these experiences come back to me that I’ve buried so deep and tried so hard to forget.

I don’t have flat abs. But I am still worthy of respect and love.

I have worked SO HARD to become healthy and strong. Not skinny. I don’t care about skinny. I want to be able to go on week-long backpacking trips.

Go for an all-day bike ride. Paddleboard out to an island and swim beside turtles. I’m training to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

I don’t have flat abs. But I am still worthy of respect and love.

I think back to when I was a camp counselor teaching middle school girls carpentry and welding. On the last day of the week-long camps, we lead a really powerful activity called “We Stand Up.” Campers and counselors sit in a circle. A camp counselor makes a statement and, if that statement is true for you, you stand up and notice how many others stand up as well.

Statements range from “I have been catcalled in the street” to “I have felt like I needed to change how I look to fit in.” Counselors participate

too, in order to help the campers see that we have all gone through similar experiences. It is eye-opening. These girls are 11, 12, and 13 years old. The same age that I was when I was first body-shamed. I cry on my commute home. ​How can this still be happening to these strong, funny, and smart young women?

I don’t have flat abs. But I am still worthy of respect and love.

I work out almost daily with a combination of weight lifting and cardio.

For the most part, I enjoy it. I enjoy feeling STRONG. I do it for myself, I tell myself. Some days I convince myself more than others. I changed my diet to pescatarian three years ago to lead a more sustainable and healthy lifestyle. I track my macronutrients to ensure I get enough protein, carbohydrates, and fats. I have cheat meals. I drink alcohol. I am in a good place with my health and fitness. I want to get stronger so I can do more adventurous and challenging trips like multi-day packrafting and cycling trips and trekking to Everest Base Camp.

Do you have flat abs?

At the ripe age of 30, I feel that I’ve finally figured out how to dress for my body type. I am showing off my curves and loving how they look. I’m not hiding my boobs like my mom taught me to. As Dolly Parton says, everyone comments on them anyways, why not get the jests and crude jokes out of the way so we can start talking about real things? It is a daily challenge to accept and love my body, but dammit I deserve to love myself.

I don’t have flat abs. But I am still worthy of respect and love.

I am strong and independent. I moved across the world to a place I’d never been before all by myself. I have made good friends here. I am creative. I love how artistic I am. I love that I can look at something and figure out how it works, how to put it together, how to make one myself. I am proud that I am an artist and a maker.

I don’t have flat abs. But I am still worthy of respect and love.

I am smart. I teach science and math to middle schoolers. Many folks cringe and shudder when I say that, but I am proud of my job. I am making a difference every day in these kids’ lives. I am showing them what a strong, smart, independent, and real woman looks like.

Do you have flat abs?

A female student comes into my room and asks to take a photo with me. I start to automatically say no because my outfit isn’t great, my hair is a mess, I don’t look good. I ask her, “Why do you want to take a photo with me?” She responds, “We need to take a photo with a role model for art class.” My heart breaks as she says that and I stand up, shoving aside all of my insecurities and grinning broadly with her arm around me for the picture.

She has no idea how much that small moment means to me. She is proof that we need to change the narrative. She considers me, ME, a simple woman without flat abs, a role model.

I do not have flat abs.

I will change the narrative.

By Rose Scavotto

May 2020