literature

Hands

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LavenderBoots's avatar
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Literature Text

Growing up I was always jealous of the hands of other women.

Small, graceful, delicate: these words came to mind when the bank teller would hand me my receipt, or when I watched a fellow student take notes in elegant, clear-to-read penmanship. They were beautiful, dainty things like wings of a butterfly; long fingered and graceful, the legs of a spider making its gossamer web. Those words would never be used describe my hands.

I've always been told I have large hands for a girl.

I would feign pride when my hands matched up to my boyfriends’ in size. I could see the look in their eyes when our fingertips kissed and the bases of our palms stayed even, I watched as the smile turned false.
It hurt.

I don’t feel that way anymore.

My hands were not made to look tiny and “lady-like.” I have large square palms and thick even fingers. You can see the places where I've broken joints by the tiny bend to the left of my middle finger, or in the twist to the right on my pinky.
My first two knuckles on my hand stick out farther than all the others. They are a testament to the years of boxing and martial arts I have under my belt.

Reddened paper-cuts and tiny burns dot my fingers. They would tell you that I am a scholar and an impatient cook.

When people shake my hand they always remark on how strong and firm my grip is; it should be after all those rock-climbing lessons.

I keep my nails very short. When asked why I don’t wear acrylics or grow my nails longer I never really know the right response. Do I tell them I don’t like the click of my nails on piano keys, or the way they dig into my palms when I form a fist? Do I tell them that I fear they would interfere with my ability to form balloon animals, or that I prefer to keep them cut-to-the-quick so that I minimize risk of infection when I administer first aid at the clinic I volunteer for?
What answer sounds best when I know the response will be, “but your nails look so much nicer when they are grown out (more feminine.)” Because I know they aren't really listening.

My hands are made to do so much more than just be pretty.
I love my hands. My hands are capable of healing, protecting, providing, creating, and feeding, not just myself but people who haven’t yet learned to use their hands like I have. My hands are strong, able to break boards. My hands are gentle, able to fold paper strips into tiny stars that kids can make wishes on. My hands are capable and that makes them beautiful.

I have accepted my hands, not to dismiss the hands of others but to see the beauty I have without comparison. It took a long time for me to do it, but I am glad I did.
Random Trivia:

Just for a quick size comparison: I spread my fingers like a star-fish and the tip of my pinky and tip of my thumb can touch the "caps lock," and "enter," keys  simultaneously on my 15" across HP laptop.

The reason I decided to post this today is because I was asked to hold a plethora of Easter eggs and no one could believe I could hold them all in one hand.

My roommate always jokes about me having "man-hands." I never told her it was a sensitive issue.
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