Is "Knowing Your Worth" Enough?
autonomy, acceptance, approval, anger, angst, all of the above.
I feel like I’m in high school. I’m twenty-eight and sometimes, I feel like I’m back in high school. The invisibility, the anger, the angst. I feel like I’m in high school. I’m twenty-eight and sometimes, I feel like sixteen year old me. I’m twenty-eight, and when I’m out, at times I feel invisible. What does one do when they feel invisible? Make themselves seen? Make themselves louder? Or cower away, thinking it won’t happen anyways. Thinking, it’s better to keep to myself, without a sound, without rocking the boat, just as we’ve been taught. To be seen as “good”, a “team-player”, “adjusting”, “welcoming”, “warm”, rather than ourselves. Does that mean that “ourselves” is in existence without any of these positive traits? Do these traits only exist in ourselves when recognized by other people? Haven’t we learned our lesson? Again? Again and again?
I hate that I feel this way. I hate that sometimes, looking in the mirror isn’t enough. I hate that while typing this, I’m thinking to myself, “is it too cocky to write a disclaimer - this piece isn’t for attention or compliments, I love the way I look and I’m aware of how I’m perceived.” Is it too cocky of me to admit I know I’m pretty? And smart? I can sense the eye rolls from those of my past. Sometimes simply knowing my worth is not enough. It feels like a gift from above to hear “I love your outfit!” from girls in the bar bathroom. I hate that when I hear compliments from strangers, I sometimes don’t believe them immediately, or I tell myself to remain humble. I feel like the luckiest girl when the barista I have a rapport with doesn’t charge me for my Dirty Iced Chai at my favorite local coffee shop. I feel seen. I don’t feel invisible. Remain humble, remain humble, remain humble. Don’t let it get to your head. Don’t let any of it get to your head. Work hard, remain humble. Are brown and Black folk always to remain humble? What would happen? What if we didn’t remain humble? Should we remain humble when waiters look at everyone else at the table, and barely manage to make eye contact with us?
I hate when I’m out, supposed to be Having a Good Time and I feel nothing but my skin crawling and my heart retreating back to its sixteen year old size - lost, misunderstood, confused.
Sorry, I’ll remain humble, not cause a scene, while still knowing my worth. Still reminding myself of my worth. Still reminding myself that “race isn’t everything” even though we know damn well it is.
Or that one time, as a 22 year old intern, I was accused of stealing a higher up’s reusable metal straw. Or that one time I was told my homemade Indian food smells bad, meanwhile the office microwave was used to heat up fish. That’s right. Office microwave. Fish. Versus office microwave, turmeric, garam masala, ghee, chili, flavorful vegetables that hug me with every bite, easing away the most anxiety I have experienced in my life. Or that one time I was asked if I washed my hands long enough in the bathroom. Or that one time I went shopping with my parents at a boutique as a child, and the cashier put my mom’s purchases in a garbage bag. Sorry. I’ll remain humble and laugh it off. I shouldn’t also want validation, want attention, want to be treated nicely, should I? I’m supposed to remain humble.
Or that one time, I was told I have an attitude. I must’ve forgotten to be humble. I should’ve picked up on being a team player, on being adjusting, on being sweet, on being cute, on being welcoming, on being warm. Warm. The irony.
I’ve been reading The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf, Women, Race, and Class, by Angela Davis, and I Used to Be Charming by Eve Babitz simultaneously. There are bits of each that intersect, and it makes me think, sadly, we haven’t come that much farther than when these books were either written, or the information written about occurred.
I cannot stop thinking about who is allowed to be seen as feminine, as beautiful, As an All Around Woman, as Good, as talented, understood, held, as worthy, as worthy, as worthy. I cannot stop thinking about who is allowed to get away with not fitting into the molds that have been shoved down our throats and receive praise, and who cannot step one foot off the balance beam without receiving Discipline or feeling Shame.
I cannot stop asking myself what beauty means to me. I cannot stop asking myself what the intersections between beauty, race, ethnicity, caste, class, all mean to me. I cannot stop thinking about how what we deem is beautiful is not simply what’s on the surface, but all of the unsaid underneath. All of what the beholder sees as beautiful - including race, ethnicity, caste, class. I cannot stop thinking about how to break out of these molds, and how to unlearn what I’ve been taught. Both about myself, and the world around me.
Not what it means to the world, or if I’m beautiful to others, if men find me beautiful, if strangers find me beautiful, or if my friends find me beautiful. What does it mean to me? I’m twenty-eight. I think I finally look my age, and it’s been an adjustment, especially while my nearly decade long lifting journey is *finally* showing. I look like I lift. It’s been an adjustment. Some days I love it, some days I despise the fact that at times, I wish I was smaller (skinnier). Then I think to myself, how ridiculous is it to wish I looked like I did in my early twenties? It’s a blessing to have this body. I find myself trying to detach from my appearance, just a little bit. I think it’s healthy - especially in this time where on TikTok, we find labels for everyone and everything. Girls telling girls to stop lifting because it makes them bulky. Girls telling girls to wear weighted bands around their wrists to “tone up” their arms while doing household chores. Girls telling girls to “find their divine feminine” and how that is supposedly more attractive to men. Girls telling girls what to tell their injector or plastic surgeon. Girls telling girls about what perfume they wore that hypnotized their date. Girls telling girls how to look in a certain way - to - you guessed it - appeal to The Man.
We haven’t moved much, have we? When did I learn to think that being more muscular was bad? Instead of being proud of all the hard work I’ve put in over the years to build my body through discipline, why do I feel shame?
I got my nose pierced in March, and I’ve never felt more like myself. I’ve wanted it since I was sixteen. I waited twelve years, for what? So I don’t “stand out”, so I don’t look “too” Tamil, so I don’t distract potential employers from my hard work? So I don’t look rebellious or “too” left leaning? Oh, the irony of living in Portland (I know you’re picturing flannel, hiking boots, tattoos, nose piercing(s), beanies, that’s exactly my point), to be a Tamil woman, and being one of the last girls I know to pierce my f*cking nose. What was I trying to appeal to? What was I shying away from?
I think it’s funnier that a mookuthi (nose piercing in Tamil - note the fact that there is a specific word in Tamil for this specific piercing) is associated with being a “baddie” where I was born and it is simply something women do where I Am From. I think it’s funny how many things our cultures have been doing for centuries that were deemed as “uncouth”, “uncivilized”, strange/odd/weird/barbaric/gross/ew are now brought to the light of day. But of course, not by Our People. By white girls on TikTok. No shade. Maybe some shade. I hope we see a time where credit is given where it is due - women’s rights, civil rights, liberation movements, resistance movements, cultural movements, clothing “trends”, beauty “trends” (which both are incredibly capitalistic, compared to cultures where this was simply a way of living) included.
I underline lines and lines of Wolf’s work in The Beauty Myth reminding me that everything I am made to feel Bad About Myself is a system working against me in order to 1. Appeal to the male and/or eurocentric gaze or 2. Feed into the capitalistic hamster wheel that we are unable to hop off of. Weight loss methods, plastic surgery, makeup after makeup after makeup, skincare and its endless push to help us “prevent aging”. As if the gift of aging is something to discard, to become disgusted by, to erase the wrinkles that tell the stories of years past. To hide the laugh lines that have developed over thousands, millions of laughs. Isn’t it a blessing to laugh in this life?
I underline lines and lines of Davis’ work in Women, Race, and Class, reminding me that much of the discredit and racism (whether it be subtle or direct) within the feminist movement(s) is much more deep rooted, disruptive, and vicious than meets the eye. Her words teach me to do better, to expect more humanity from others, especially women, especially women who benefit from the women’s rights movements. Especially us women who hold any privilege - caste, class, race, sexuality.
I underline lines and lines of Babitz’s work in I used to Be Charming as an appreciation of her craft, her ability to story-tell, her vulnerability. Her writing reminds me that my writing can also be fun, can be lighthearted, can be poignant while being fun and lighthearted. However, I find myself pausing, thinking and laughing at the things Ms. Eve got away with in her life that I couldn’t imagine myself doing. I find myself pausing at some of the sentences she writes, appreciating her brutal honesty in how she holds herself as beautiful, attractive, sexy, wondering if All Women can write in such a way and be held in such high regard. I wonder if All Women can appreciate their bodies so openly and be revered in the writing world, let alone the Real World. I find myself pausing, comparing myself, and wondering, again, about where the line is drawn between who is allowed to do what. Who is given what. Who is seen as what.
“It is silly, isn't it, that I would dream of someone else offering to me the acceptance and affirmation I was withholding from myself.” - bell hooks, All About Love
Where do we go from here?
With love,
Nivita
one of my favorites of urs!!!!!!!!!!!