I began to grow breasts at age 10. Ever since the peripherals of puberty were on my horizon, my body (and my body is me) was not treated the same. I hardly recall a time that (how did Young put it?) my motility was not governed by the social laws of femininity. Laws, not constructs; it took me 15 years to begin to grasp the echoes of possibility that the rules I lived by were not fundamental, that I was not born into a natural hierarchy where my sex, my race, my disability, and my sexuality governed my worth and my right to take up space. I am re-learning a concept I was socialized away from as a young child- that I get to take up space, because I exist. Feminine motility // the movement of a feminine being born into a female body. Ever since my body hinted at a slender waist, since my breasts came into existence, the world I have lived in has not been the same. Unlike some female philosophers, I blame this not on the experience of womanhood itself, but on the experience of my womanhood which is experienced by others through their truths, their beliefs, their internal “laws”- which is in return projected onto me.
When I was 11, I wanted to swim with the other kids in the pool. They were kicking in the water, laughing, splashing, shrieking in delight. I wanted to join them. Most of the girls had not yet grown breasts, most possessed the lanky build that children often do. I stepped to jump in, still clad in a shirt; I’d forgotten my swimsuit at home. But I heard the mothers of the other girls talking about me. “Oh, is she going to swim in a white shirt? That’s kind of inappropriate, people will see her chest! She’s so irresponsible. Her shirt will cling to her [chest] and the men will see!”
I heard my own mother agree with them that I should stay out of the water, that it was the proper thing to do. They didn’t know I could hear them, they were going to wait and watch to see if I had enough “self-awareness” (shame about inhabiting a curvaceous body) to stay out of the pool. And I did, after hearing those words; my heart was a paper with “self-love” written on it that was crumpled and brought to a flame; a dark cloud called shame took over.
Mother thought she was protecting me, you see? Every shirt she asked me to change out of, every time she said my breasts were too big, my butt was too pronounced; every time she told me my friendliness (not flirtiness) with the opposite sex should be inhibited out of propriety was out of her urge to protect me from being perceived as “impure”, as “sexual”. And that says so much, doesn’t it? Mothers pass on these restrictive “laws” and tear away at the self-worth of the person they hold so dearly- their own daughters. Teaching them that to be a good woman is to not love yourself, not take up space, to be demure, never “ask for it”, never cause a scene. They suffocate their daughters, freedom is the air that some women have died for because they were tired of feeling throttled by untrue “laws” their entire lives. But hey, it’s out of love, isn’t it?
Unruly Bodies 
Your post reminded me of an experience I had during my stepmom’s birthday party this summer. It was a pool party, so everyone was in and out of the pool all day. I was wearing a pretty standard bikini, and when I got out of the water for the final time, I decided to put on a pair of sweatpants. It was still pretty warm out and the dead middle of summer, so I didn’t put a shirt on with the sweatpants. A couple hours later, I got cold and threw a hoodie on top of my bikini top. As I walked into the living room with my sweatpants and sweatshirt on, my uncle yells from the couch, “Wow you finally put some clothes on!” Meanwhile, my brother was still walking around shirtless, and you can guess that when he put his shirt on, no one said a word to him. Your post reminded me of all the times my body was policed as a child, when there were male friends in the house or in the morning before school. It made me think of how much I think about the perception of my body, and how little someone like my uncle has to.
This post does an incredible job at reflecting your life experiences and how they relate to social expectations. Notably, I find that the use of the term “laws” is greatly effective. While we may understand expectations to be socially constructed, we embody and enact them as though they are laws, unmeant to be broken. Thus, you are policed, especially within a feminine body. Throughout society, we point out who breaks these “laws” and reprimand accordingly. Notably, these laws are much more restrictive depending on what people decide you are, not necessarily who you actually are. We follow these rules to avoid punishment, shame, and embarrassment. In addition, oftentimes people internalize these viewpoints as truths and understandings. As a result, it becomes a continuous cycle of what is policed and what bodies should be.
As someone who started puberty much earlier than my peers and also grew up plus sized, I strongly relate to this post. For me, it was my mom telling me to suck in my stomach and only letting me buy flowy shirts that hid my chest and curves. Or my aunt making me change out of my favorite skort because it was too short. Or the boys in my class holding 2 basketballs to their chest to make fun of me for having breasts. Mind you, I was maybe 10 years old? I learned at a very young age that my body occupied too much space and have since been trying to actively unlearn these harmful lessons taught to me by the people I was closest to. I genuinely hope once day we can just let feminine bodies BE.