"You are imperfect. You are hard-wired for struggle; but you are worthy of love and belonging." -Brené Brown Once upon a time in middle school, I was best friends with all of the boys, but none of them liked me like that. Which, as a boy-crazy, crossing-over-into-teenage-land girl who's hearts' desire was just to fit in and be considered pretty by her peers... this was THE worst. I can pinpoint a couple of moments when things were said to me by people who never meant to hurt me. I know where I was. I know how I felt. I remember feeling anchored and secure one day, and a teacher talking to my 'health class' about self-esteem. She asked what we would change about ourselves if we could. I didn't want to change anything. I believed I was beautiful just the way I was. I didn't see that I was overweight at the time because food was a security blanket and how I dealt with some incredibly stressful situations going on when I was younger. I remember my teacher being surprised by my self-confidence and self-love. I remember thinking, is there something wrong with me that I can't see? Have I missed something? I remember well-meaning friends saying things like, "Every boy would be fighting over you if you were smaller." "You'd be sooo pretty if you didn't wear glasses." Like these verbal tattoos became etched in my skin and I believed them, and allowed them to define me. Every time a boy broke my heart, I blamed my body. Every. Single. Time. I had this uncanny way of attracting friends and boys who would echo the things I felt about myself. Girls who would call me their best friend and stab me in the back, or confide in someone else that they liked having me as their wingman because I wasn't competition. I could go on forever. And then I was the loudest voice screaming all kinds of obscenities at myself from the moment I woke up til the moment I laid my head down on my pillow. I beat myself up, and would spiral into my secret world of an eating disorder for a while. I got to the point where I hated almost every inch of myself and it bled into every area of my life. I had Ayla, and everything slowly began to change, because all of my choices are laying a foundation for her. Because I can tell her how to love herself all day, but if I don't show her, she may never learn that. In fact, she'll most probably learn my shame. Today, I am a work in progress. Pregnancy can do allllll kinds of crazy to a woman's body. And you know what? I grew a human. My body may not be that of a Victoria's Secret model, but it's spectacular and it is mine. I've come a long way. I have a long way to go. And I'm proud of myself. But today, I'm owning my story. I'm owning my shame. I'm tired of comparison stealing my joy. I'm tired of hating myself. I'm tired of self-loathing and cruelty. "I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me. " - Maya Angelou Note to self: I'm sorry it's taken me so long. I'm sorry I've hurt you and allowed people to treat you like you're worthless. You are beautiful in all the ways you come. You are phenomenal. Inside and out. You are enough. You are worthy of love and belonging. And I love you.
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