Dear body,

Yes--every stretch mark, every curve, every fold, ever bend. Hello. It's me again, the girl who's looked over you countless times in the mirror or the shower or in a window, wondering what I could do to change you.

As society changed, so did we. As I got older, you got bigger. My hips filled out, my breasts became full, my stomach was not flat, my legs grew strong. But, a bigger body was defined as one that was undesirable, one that had no place in the arms of a partner, one that had no place being a model or being pretty.

I've been trying to change you ever since I got you. I tried anorexia. I tried portion control. I tried cocoa butter--every solution, cream, diet you could think of. It would work for a little while, but I was still big. My hips were big, my breasts were big, my cheeks were big. I was big--and being big was not pretty. Being big meant you were lazy. It meant you were fat. It meant you weren't pretty. Society taught us that, to be pretty, we had to be less than a size 7. Society taught us we could not wear crop tops. We had to hide our stretch marks. We had to hate the skin, the bones, the essence of what made us. With these thoughts so deeply rooted into the core of who I was, I began to loathe you. Seeing my naked flesh in the mirror of a changing room made me cry, a woman who was ashamed of every inch of herself. If society couldn't love us, who would?

So I wore the baggy shirts. I wore the loose jeans. I covered up every inch of you so no one had to see you. I hid you away--every stretch mark, every curve, every fold, every bend. If society couldn't love you, neither could I. And if I couldn't love you, then I was hell bent on changing you.

You were the source of much pain, much bullying--thinner, prettier girls running around me and calling me awful names. You were the reason I didn't eat, the reason I skipped meals and had my parents and friends asking questions. You were the reason I stayed on the scale, counting every pound and ounce I lost. You were the reason for my sadness, my self-hatred. You were the reason I was fat shamed.

But, now I'm older. Now, I know better.

It's taken me 18 years, but I think I'm coming around to finally loving you--every stretch mark, every curve, every fold, every bend.

Society may have taught us that we are not beautiful, but I say we are. So what if my stomach is not flat? So what if my hips are big? So what if my cheeks are round? Shape does not define beauty, and I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that.

My stretch marks are beautiful. My tummy is beautiful. My legs are beautiful.

I am beautiful.

I have grown tired of wishing I was different--wishing my hips were smaller, wishing my face was angular with high cheek bones, wishing my ass was rounder and my stomach flatter. I have grown tired of comparing myself to women on Cosmo or People or Vouge--women who are still photoshopped to make them into some skewed version of perfection that society has built up. I have grown tired of hating myself and crying over the skin I was born in. I have grown tired of being so tired.

All across the world, everyone is being viewed on their bodies--like works of art, except each stroke that creates our paintings is called a mistake.

Learning to love you has been one of the hardest, yet most rewarding things I've ever done. You have gifted me with a new sense of confidence, to rock my curves, to embrace my marks, to adore every inch of this pale skin I live in. You have taught me strength, and to know that while people may say awful things, I know what the truth is. You have given me hope, to know that I am and will always be loved--if not by anyone, than by myself. You make me feel sexy--my curves fitting almost too perfectly in lingerie at times.

There is beauty in the big bodies. There is beauty in the tiny bodies. There is beauty in the scarred, marked, skinny, lumpy, thin bodies.

There is beauty in my body--in all bodies.

So, thank you, body. Thank you for the good and bad times. Thank you for the stretch marks and the cellulite. Thank you for the back rolls, the chubby cheeks, and everything in between.

Thank you for all of this beauty, wrapped up in a woman who finally has some confidence.

Thank you for being you. For being marked. For being different.

Thank you.

Sincerely, The Girl In The Mirror.