Growing up, I found it difficult to feel comfortable and confident in my body. I’d look at myself in the mirror and suck in my stomach, push out my butt, and avoid tight shirts or crop tops because I didn’t feel like I had the “right type of body” to wear them. I’d stare, contorting myself to try to fit into an idealized version of a woman, one seared into my brain by mainstream media and the patriarchy. 

I was a pre-teen when it all began, disliking my body and viewing myself through the male gaze. In retrospect, I’m shocked that the male gaze had such a hold on me at such a young age, and yet I know I can’t be the only one. I remember walking into class and wondering if the boy I liked thought I looked pretty. I used so much mental energy wondering what boys thought of me. And then I’d go home and look in the mirror and find all the things wrong with my appearance. It was a vicious cycle. And I was only 12 or 13. 

“I was a pre-teen when it all began, disliking my body and viewing myself through the male gaze.”

We live in a society that holds women to impossible beauty standards. Even when we start to see progress in terms of inclusivity, we go backward somewhere else. It’s hard, and it’s impossible to keep up.

Fast forward to high school and I met my now-fiancé. He was the first guy to ever tell me I was beautiful just the way I was. I was over the moon to have found a man who thought I was pretty without makeup, who thought I looked good without even having to try. But, as the years went by, I still didn’t feel beautiful. When he’d tell me I looked nice, I’d roll my eyes or say “thanks” awkwardly. I’m not sure I believed him. I loved that he loved me for me, but I didn’t feel beautiful. 

I got to a point in college where I felt neutral toward my body. I saw some influencer talking about how she didn’t love her body, but she was grateful for all it did for her, and she embraced body neutrality. I liked that idea and decided to give it a try. In the mirror, I didn’t love what I saw, but I didn’t hate it either. I just existed. I didn’t want to talk about my body, think about it, or look at it, really. I didn’t feel sexy or empowered; I was just trying to avoid the idea of my body altogether. 

“I didn’t feel sexy or empowered; I was just trying to avoid the idea of my body altogether.”

In college, I realized I was bisexual. I was in a relationship, but I was journaling one day and came to the realization that I find more than just men attractive. I was really overwhelmed with this discovery. I had years of internalized homophobia to comb through and big decisions about whether I wanted to (or needed to) come out to people because I was in a loving, monogamous relationship with my now-fiancé. And beyond that, my entire view of the world felt like an earthquake had hit it. If I’m bisexual, what else could be true about myself? 

” If I’m bisexual, what else could be true about myself? “

Writer Haley Jakobson beautifully wrote, “Someone asked me how my bisexuality expresses itself outside the context of a relationship — and I said that bisexuality is my worldview. To love without limits is to question every binary placed on us, to walk through my womanhood with a curiosity that expands far wider than an expected performance for men, to exist in a way where I see infinite paths of life — it’s a fantastically overwhelmingly expansive way of being. It necessitates examination of both queer and heterosexual expectations and stereotypes, and it means defining every aspect of life for myself.” 

I love this quote, because like she says, outside of the context of my relationship, my bisexuality completely shifted my worldview over the next several years. It was queerer, more compassionate, less dependent on the binary, and more open to possibility. I cared less about what straight men thought. And the patriarchal ideas that permeated my mind didn’t seem to matter as much. 

“What I found most beautiful about women wasn’t at all the things that I’d always been told were beautiful. The norm of the male gaze was wrong.”

I allowed myself to look at women without internalized homophobia, shame, or fear for the first time in my life. And I discovered that what I found most beautiful about women wasn’t at all the things that I’d always been told were beautiful. The norm of the male gaze was wrong. And even more, it didn’t matter to me anymore. 

I found that I am attracted to curves, hips, and rolls — interesting bodies that don’t fit into a cookie-cutter mold. And confidence. Confidence in anybody is hot as hell. 

My entire perspective was shaken. 

Because suddenly, when I looked in the mirror, I saw all of that beauty in me. My belly, my back rolls, my hips — they were sexy. How had I never seen that before? I was a beautiful, confident, queer woman — not because anyone said so or because I was finally fitting into some beauty mold, but because I saw myself that way. 

“I was a beautiful, confident, queer woman — not because anyone said so or because I was finally fitting into some beauty mold, but because I saw myself that way.”

I started to notice that when my fiancé would tell me I look great, I’d reply “Hell yeah I do” and mean it. I appreciated him telling me, but I didn’t need his words for approval. I’d look in the mirror and enjoy seeing the parts of me that I used to despise. 

I love my body most of the time now, but some days I still don’t. Sometimes I’m bloated or feel like my boobs look weird. There are still times when I avoid the mirror altogether. And that’s okay. Because when I take a step back and look at my perception of myself in this physical form over the past several years I see insurmountable change. I see a shift from watching myself through the lens of others, to watching myself through my own eyes. And piecing together my own bisexuality has been paramount to that shift.

Brianna Schubert is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade and the Digital Editor at Milwaukee Magazine. She has a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Since 2023, Brianna has combined her expertise and investigative skills to deliver thoughtful reviews of sustainable products and home goods, helping readers make informed, eco-conscious choices. Brianna is also the writer behind The Mood Board, a Substack newsletter for creativity and inspiration. When she’s not writing, you can find her cooking up a new recipe, reading and recommending books, cuddling with her cat, or finding hidden gems at vintage and thrift stores. Say hi on Instagram!