Everyone seems to have his or her own, often steadfast, belief about how a woman's body should function -- a checklist we must complete in order to qualify as "perfect" or "useful" or "feminine."
We should fit into a certain size, or garments should hang off us in a certain way.
We should have sex in a particular fashion and be powerful to a certain degree.
And, of course, we should make babies.
And while some may find power in the idea that a woman's body was made to grow and give birth to life, there is danger in telling women that procreation is what their bodies were made for.
Mostly because, that isn't true.
A woman's body can procreate, but that is not its only function. That is not its sole purpose, unless the woman inhabiting that vessel and moving those arms and legs and stretching under that skin with those veins decides that is the purpose she has chosen for her body.
Because if a woman chooses, her body can do much more than just have children.
Her body can climb great mountains or swim deep oceans. It can lie on a beach and lazily drink deliciously cool drinks. It can surf the most intimidating of waves and fish the calmest of waters.
Her body can work 60 hours a week and aid her in meeting deadlines and presenting valuable information. Her body can help her earn a raise or secure a promotion or take that extremely well-deserved vacation.
Her body can run marathons and go long distances and survive heat exhaustion and dehydration.
Her body can function on little to no sleep, writing term papers and creating lesson plans and studying note after note after note.
Her body can take apart a carburetor and put it back together.
Her body can sink the perfect jump shot and kick a gorgeous goal and tackle an unsuspecting opponent. Her body can punch a thoughtless bag or kick a rubber dummy or jump an unforgiving rope.
Her body can sit on the couch and devour an entire bag of Doritos and enjoy each and every second of it.
Her body can look great in a bikini, regardless of its size.
Her body can be pierced and inked and scarred and burned and decorated in any number of ways that highlight her own, unique vision.
Her body can stretch and bend and expand and shrink and take up as much or as little room as she determines.
Her body can sweat and stink and grow hair and make noises she, well, will probably blame on the dog.
Her body can be shared with however many people she decides to share it with, never losing its allure or value or beauty.
Her body can endure an indescribable amount of pain. From pain she feels in the marrow of her bones to the pain a simple pimple can provoke.
Her body can, and will, fail her.
Her body can withstand G-forces and jump out of perfectly good airplanes and cut through air with bungee cords attached.
Her body can test the forces of nature and the power of gravity and the limits society is so desperate to put on it.
And while I chose to use my body to procreate, it was, in fact, a choice. A choice I've made for my body, along with many other choices that have left it scarred and exhausted and pleasured and thriving.
It wasn't some destined outcome thanks to ages of evolution. It wasn't to fulfill a duty I believe my body owes society or the species or a coming generation. It wasn't to follow a pre-determined standard of femininity, and it wasn't to feel fruitful. It wasn't to gain favor in the eyes of a particular religion, and it wasn't to maintain an illusion of success.
It was because I chose to use my body that way.
So, when I look at the women with bodies that cannot carry life or birth life or sustain life, I remember the danger in telling women that their bodies were made for procreation.
When I look at women who decide not to use their bodies for procreation, and hear them defend their choice to those who cannot understand, I remember the danger in telling women their bodies were made for procreation.
When I look at women who have endured miscarriage after miscarriage after painful miscarriage, I remember the danger in telling women their bodies were made for procreation.
Mostly because it can make women feel useless or defective or broken.
Mostly because it can make women feel like they aren't women at all.
Mostly because, it isn't true.
Because your body was made for you, and whatever it is you decide you want to do with it. And what you use your body for, or what your body can or cannot do, does not determine how "perfect" or "useful" or "feminine" your body is.
The only one who decides that is you.
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