A funny thing happened recently. I was home last month and out shopping with my mother, and she commented about how I need to start going to the gym because my thighs have gotten bigger. I also went from a small to a medium in shirts, and I went from a 3 to a 5 in pants. When she made that comment, I immediately responded with, “No, I’m quite happy with myself, thank you.” And then it hit me.
I’m actually happy with myself. I love my body.
I have gone through a slew of self-hating periods since sixth grade. Everyone was going through puberty and getting their boobs, and I was not. In high school, everyone had their boobs, and I did not. In college, I started gaining weight and I had a tummy, which I had never had before. I have always been self-conscious of the things I have or the things I lack, and it had taken over my life for a very long time. I think that is where my depression started, and then it spiraled out of control. The point is I let the self-hate of my body control me for so long, and I was never happy with myself. Not until now.
I filled out. I have curves. I have hips. I have an ass. I have flabby thighs. I have an awkward tummy. I have stretch on my ass and down my thighs. My boobs have been the same size since I was six. But damn, I am happy with every inch of myself. Sure, I would like to tone things up, but I’m afraid I will loose what I have gained.
I love myself now, and that is the best feeling in the world.