Behind Closed Doors

Prologue:

Finally, just this once, I finally had the audacity to scrutinize my every flaw in the man-made material called a mirror. My eyes outline every detail on my face; observing every beautiful, uniquely flawed God given trait that swiftly passed on to me from my mother. My eyes wandered from my face to my body, outlining my curves as my hands traced over them. My fingertips ran over some scars from the past while exploring, scars that still haunt me from the people that caused them but they're people that I'm forced to be associated with still. I rarely ever look at myself like this: naked. Looking at myself naked was like a whole new experience for me again. I try to avoid it as much as possible. I felt ashamed. What's ironic is, is that I can't look at myself naked but yet I would let other people have the privilege to. And because of that I feel so utterly disgusted by my own cause of actions.

I don't respect my body, I try to let other people do it for me. But what's the point of other people respecting your body if you don't have the dignity of doing it for yourself?

I've been asking myself that same question for eleven years.

I loathed the lack of respect I had for myself. I can carry myself high like a queen and act as if I'm a very important and superior woman who has the respect of many but in all actuality I feel as though all that is just a never ending joke. A queen doesn't disrespect herself or belittle's herself for the people around her, especially if that's what they want her to do. That's exactly what I was doing. I was a queen, can you believe that? People still think that I am but only I know the truth.

I shook my head in disappointment. My mother raised me better than this.

A new pair of hands roamed my body sensually, grasping the most appealing art in their strong hand and caused goosebumps to trail after them. My eyes were glued to the floor, I didn't want to see him enjoying what I despised.

"Baby, you alright?" he asked. He hugged my naked body in his arms lovingly. I sighed, "Yeah, I'm alright."

He turned me around and looked deeply into my eyes, sensing that something was wrong. I had no choice but to stare at him back. I forced a faint smile onto my face, trying to show him that nothing was wrong with me.

"Look, I know you don't like looking at your body, but I cherish it even if you won't. Your body is God's greatest creation, you were once a blank slate and now your a work of art. Every flaw that you hate, I love and appreciate. Every scar that's made it's home in only places that you can see, shows me that you've been through so much throughout your life; but you pushed through it and it made you stronger. Flaws that you possess makes you beautiful in every way and you should love it."

I thought about what he said and I realized that my husband loves my body the way it is. And although he does, I don't. I was flattered by his words but it didn't make me change my mind any less.