“I am revolting,” I said to myself this morning.
Right after saying the words, I was struck by the many meanings that the statement carries.
Revolting. Inhabiting a body that repulses. A body that does not adhere, conform, contort.
Revolting. Battling racism, heterosexism, patriarchal imaginaries and dominant medical norms on how bodies should look, act and perform. Trying to ensure that the constant friction with oppressive structures doesn’t consume me, burn me alive.
And so in response I asked myself, “Am I revolting?”