stephanie yang

it never happens often enough that i find myself here at the baths, my body blissing out on the many forms of heat and enlivening to the quick, occasional splash of cold. i am surrounded by beauty which is mirrored in me. i take a deep breath in, the hot dry air of the sauna catches in my chest before i release it out, flowing with it all that i’ve ever needed to let go, it seems. it feels good to breathe, to release. to feel all those years of hatred tumble out of my body through my lungs, my pores, my breath.

the female body, in all her curves, her angles, her textures, is beautiful beyond words. laying back now in the warm water i notice all the bodies surrounding me. walking by. resting. washing. cleansing. and i am one of them. i turn to rocket who came here with me and we languish in a smile.

for many many years i faced this body, my body, daily, as if preparing for battle, convinced i had to fight against it. that if only i could conquer it, reshape it to look like my mother’s ideal of beauty, i would be ok. that i would be enough. this body was too tall. too queer. too white. too chinese. too big. too masculine. too sexual. simply. it was too much. so i learned to hate every inch, every cell that made up the whole. it was eating that built this body, and then it was eating that destroyed me.

eating disorders. disordered eating. whatever we call it, however we come to terms with it, it is all the same. it is fighting against our bodies, tearing fissures of difference between our physical and mental selves. food is not the battle. i created the war inside me, using food (or the lack of) as ammunition to maim, to injure…to kill. i lived this violence for years, decades even…a secret very few ever knew about. it will always be here with me…this voice inside that tells me that my body isn’t enough, that i will never be enough. a voice that is both comforting in its familiarity, yet vicious in its attacks. i am learning finally to separate out that voice from what i know about me, who i know i am.

some days are harder than others. but not all. thankfully, those days of peaceful sunshine are coming more and more often, it seems. there was a time in my life when the self-hatred was all i had to hold onto. all that i could see. i learned how to hate myself as a child…and perfected it as an adult. in the past few years though, i have made the choice to unlearn that hate. to heal the wounds that i have caused, to forgive myself for the myriad scars i have left, scattered across my body…ones only i can see.

i have used ink and stainless steel to cover up some of the scars and am always wanting more. as i look around the baths again, i take note of the spattering of ink on other bodies, appreciating the beauty of moving art. it is in this moment, this elongated moment of self care, that i am letting go of the voice inside and choosing to claim the truth that is mirrored before me. she is beauty. they are beauty. i am beauty. and in that, we are each, individually and collectively, completely enough.