The things is, I am not brave. I am not brave because I do things "even when I look like this" or because "even though I am fat." I am not being brave, I am confident that I am fucking perfect! The word brave is defined as ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage. It indicates that you have a fear or hesitation. That despite something terrible, you are making a choice to do it anyway. Overcoming all odds. You see, I am not at odds with my fat and don't see it as something terrible that requires courage.
Sadly, it isn't acceptable to be vain. We are told that we must be a martyr of our own bodies and let someone else decide what is acceptable. We must feed corporations with our own self-doubt and let them prey on our insecurities. You have to join the club and participate in conversations about how much we hate ourselves. Like a competition of who can be the most unsatisfied with various body parts or the size of said body parts. But it doesn't have to be that way! Instead of being rewarded for being brave, we can be complimented on our perfection and fabulous-ness.
What a wonderful world that would be! If everyone was as free from body shame as I am. But it's something we are ingrained with at an early age. There are layers and layers that need to be peeled back. Like when I was 10 and someone told me that I was better off not wearing my pink two-piece with black polka dots and endless frills because my teeny belly was round. I immediately lost a little bit of my shine. Every deflating experience with my own body and influence continued to tarnish me. By the time I was 30, I could have easily been covered in rust. But I have spent time polishing and buffing off those layers of shame and body hate. Each time I wear what I want, talk about fat acceptance or post my picture on the internet, I am wiping away some of that gunk.
I am not being brave, I am confident that I am perfect.