Somewhere along the line, we were told — taught, shown, reinforced — that it’s not okay to be proud of ourselves.
Not really.
Not in a bold, radiant, or unapologetic way. It’s “confidence” if it’s humble and palatable. But anything more than that, and suddenly, it’s vanity, ego, and arrogance.
Especially if you’re not a dude.
Especially if you’re not someone that people already expect to take up space.
And I internalized that.
I still carry it around, like a rule I didn’t sign up for, but I can’t stop following it. This idea is that if I feel good about how I look, if I like myself in a photo if I stand a little taller because I know I’m feeling confident that day — then I’m doing something wrong.
I’m inviting judgment.
I’m making myself unsafe.
Because underneath all that cultural noise is the even more insidious message — that being attractive somehow causes harm to come to us, that pride is a provocation.
That visibility is dangerous.
And I know it’s not true. Intellectually, I know. Being attractive, or sexy, or visible, or proud — none of that causes assault or rape. Nothing causes it except the person who chooses to commit harm.
Period.
But knowing that isn’t the same as believing it, not in the bones.
So I’ve been trying to work through it. Trying to write my way toward truth. Or at least toward a quieter noise in my head. Stream of consciousness scribbles. Notes in the margins of journal pages. Maybe even a poster or three — not for anyone else, just for me.
Something that says: you’re allowed to like yourself.
You’re allowed to shine.
You’re allowed to be seen.
It’s not like flipping a switch. It’s more like layering paint over something that keeps bleeding through. Intention. Thought. Repetition. Work.
And yeah, time.
I’ve been thinking about creating a whole new section within Physical Project 2.3 (which, if you know, you know — it’s a complicated, evolving mess of a healing practice disguised as a documentation system). Something dedicated to this specific kind of reclamation. Not just physical health in terms of strength, sleep, food, or numbers.
But something that holds space for feeling beautiful.
Feeling powerful.
Feeling okay about being proud of myself.
The truth is, it’s okay. It’s better than okay. It’s necessary. To rebuild what the world tried to steal. To reclaim the joy of presence. Of liking your reflection. of dressing for yourself.
Of feeling sexy, strong, soft, sharp — all the things, any of the things, your things.
So yeah. That could be the next step. Add a new page. Hang a poster. Wear the lipstick. Strike the pose. Say ‘thank you’ when someone compliments you instead of deflecting it with a joke.
Let yourself be who you are.
Not because it makes you safer. Not because it’s a shield. But because you deserve to. Because it’s yours. Because it’s not vanity — it’s truth.
And truth doesn’t need to shrink.