I never felt like you were good enough.
From the time I was an adolescent into my teens, I was embarrassed of you. Changing shyly in the bathroom, afraid to show others the mounds that were quickly beginning to form on my chest.
The unwanted stares and insults hurled at me as I ventured into adulthood. The stretch marks you bore from developing so young. The constant need to be thinner, thicker, bigger, or smaller.
I didn’t want you. And I tried every way I could to make you better. Make you different. Make you like everyone else but me.
When I noticed that cancerous lump growing inside years later, it felt like you betrayed me. A cruel lesson for the years of neglect I had inflicted on you.
But it wasn’t until I was faced with the thought of losing a part of you that I began to mourn what once was. Your unique flaws. Your imperfections.
I felt the burden of guilt for not accepting you sooner. For not taking better care of you. Wondering if I could’ve done more to stave off this disease.
I had spent so much time trying to fix you and live up to an expectation that didn’t exist that I hadn’t spent enough time looking beyond that.
And now I find myself spinning with thoughts of regret as I look at the scars you bear. The pain you’ve endured. And how I wish I could’ve loved you sooner.
You brought me from the point of despair and led me to triumph. Got me through the pain and suffering. And never gave up when my mind said all I wanted to do was give in.
I admit the weight still bears down on me sometimes and I find myself comparing you to others. Wondering silently if I will ever feel comfortable in my own skin.
But your scars show me your strength. And remind me how resilient you are and how much I respect you. And I am going to try my hardest to be better to you.
To my body:
I don’t spend enough time telling you this…
But I want you to know now more than ever,
You are beautiful.
You are brave.
And you are enough.