The body, as learned

Men and women are taught to perceive their bodies differently, long before we ever realise it is happening.

Men are encouraged to think about what their bodies can do. How far they can run. How strong they can become. How much energy they have to get through the day.

Women are encouraged to think about how their bodies look. How much space they take up. How carefully they are managed.

This difference is rarely explained outright. It is absorbed quietly through comments, habits, and small moments that feel insignificant at the time. Over time, it becomes normal. Familiar. Unquestioned.

I first became aware of this when I was around ten years old.

I was a competitive athlete, and even then, the contrast was obvious. The boys around me spoke about performance, strength, and improvement. The girls spoke about size, control, and appearance. We were training in the same environments, pushing our bodies in similar ways, yet relating to them completely differently.

Even as children, our bodies already felt like something to manage.

As I grew older, that same pattern followed me. Into adolescence. Into work. Into adulthood. It simply changed form.

I remember working long eight hour shifts as a teenager.
The guys would eat before work, talking about how much energy they would need to get through the day. How draining the shift would be. How hungry they would be otherwise.

The girls would barely eat.

Not because we did not need fuel. We were standing and working just as long. But because eating came with calculations we had already learned to make automatically.

“If I eat now, I will be bloated.”
“I will just wait until later.”
“I am not really that hungry.”

The boys were genuinely confused. Not judgmental. Just puzzled. They could not understand how we planned to get through the shift without fuel. And we could not understand how they could eat without first negotiating with their bodies.

That difference stayed with me.

Men, broadly speaking, are taught to see their bodies as instruments. Something to fuel, strengthen, rest, and use in service of their lives.

Women are taught to see their bodies as something to perfect. Something to monitor. Refine. Keep in check.

One way is not inherently better than the other. But they are profoundly different.

I have often wondered where this difference actually begins.

Boys are encouraged to expand. To climb higher, run faster, take up space, test limits, and trust their bodies to carry them forward. Their bodies are treated as something reliable. Something to push. Something to use.

Girls, on the other hand, are often taught to stay contained.

To be aware before they are encouraged to be powerful. To notice how they appear. To soften themselves. To be careful. To keep themselves small enough to be palatable.

Over time, that messaging settles quietly into the body.

It shows up as discomfort with taking up space. With eating freely. With resting without justification. With speaking loudly. With trusting hunger. With trusting strength.

Many women I know do not consciously try to be small. But they feel uneasy expanding. Sitting wide. Eating fully. Claiming space without apology. It is not vanity. It is conditioning.

This is where the difference between men and women’s relationships with their bodies begins to make sense.

Men are taught to rely on their bodies.
Women are taught to monitor them.

Women do not just use their bodies. We interpret them. We feel them. We read into them. We attach meaning to every sensation. That is not a flaw. It is part of what makes women deeply intuitive and perceptive.

Female intuition is not imaginary. It is embodied intelligence. It lives in the body. It is the ability to sense shifts, anticipate needs, and respond to subtle changes long before they become obvious.

Our menstrual cycle strengthens this awareness. Across the month, our bodies move through distinct hormonal phases, each offering different signals, sensitivities, and strengths. The female body is designed to communicate. To adapt. To recalibrate.

The issue is not that women feel deeply in their bodies.

The issue is that a system built around containment taught us to turn that awareness inward as surveillance, rather than outward as guidance.

Instead of asking, “What do I need to function well today?”
We were taught to ask, “What will this do to how I look?”

And once that question takes root, it follows you everywhere. Into the way you eat. The way you rest. The way you move. The way you speak about yourself, even casually.

So the question becomes clearer.

Is there a right way to perceive your body? Have men had it right all along?

I do not think women need to become less sensitive. And I do not think men have it perfectly figured out either.

Men tend to relate to their bodies functionally.
Women tend to relate to their bodies relationally.

Both perspectives matter.

What women were never taught is that intuition and functionality can coexist. That you can listen deeply to your body and still allow it to support your life. That eating, resting, and moving are not aesthetic decisions, but practical ones. That your cycle is not something to work around, but something to work with.

The shift is not abandoning awareness. It is redirecting it.

What if your body was not something to shrink, fix, or manage, but something designed to help you live fully?
What if intuition was not something that made life harder, but something that could guide you more kindly through it?

There is not one right way to perceive your body. But there is a way that offers more freedom. A way that honours sensitivity without turning it against you.

This month, I invite you to notice the moments where you feel the urge to contain yourself. To eat less. To rest less. To shrink. To stay quiet.

Not with judgement. Just with curiosity.

Because the way we relate to our bodies is something we learned. And anything learned can be softened, questioned, and reshaped.

Love,
Ava