I realize I never appreciated my body for itself. It helped me to conceived 6, maybe 7, children and give birth to two. It helped me to survive a bad car accident, walk again when I was told I never would again, survived many challenges that I had been told would take my life, including cancer three times. It’s given me the stamina to learn new things, the energy to take care of over a 100 children and some of their parents, the strength to never give up. All that by itself deserves some appreciation.
I spent most of my life trying to become something that I wasn’t… what others insisted I should be, what some tried to demand of me. Funny, how none of those people are around me now.
I spent most of my life believing if I “just lost 15 more pounds”, I’d be perfect. Better or good would have been acceptable. Hell, even good enough would have worked for me. But I was never “good enough”. I could have weighed just 15 pounds and still be told “just lose 15 more pounds, and you will be perfect!”
I guess the only “perfect” was invisible. But I was already that and it was never perfect.