I'm going to speak very openly about my body.

This is a message I want people to hear. I hope that by being honest about my body, someone out there will be honest about theirs in a way they never have been.

No relationship is perfect. Your relationship with your body will never be perfect. Nonetheless, your body is you. Your brain, a part of your body, is you too. You know your memories with your whole body. You experience the world with your whole body. Without your body, you would not be.

This is the way I talk about mine. It's what I think of mine. How I've struggled with mine. It's how I accept my body like a person: flaws and all.

I unconsciously pick my skin.

I don't get scrapes and scratches on purpose, but when I do, I let them heal. Then rip them open. Over and over again. I have been doing this since I was little. Now, looking back and knowing who I've become, I think I've been ripping the wounds open for an entirely different reason. They heal.

How long will this take? What are the signs of an infection? What are scars like? How do I reduce them?

I love my body because no matter what I put it through, it recovers. How could I say I hate it, knowing that magic?

I look at my scarred legs and remind myself that some people think they're ugly. I don't think they're ugly. I think they're so cool. I think my scars are stories. Little tattoos.

Then I think about my relationship with my whole body.

I have so many standards for it, but not many standards for others. I really hated the idea of anyone seeing it, because I did hate it. The thing that's been the most liberating for me to realize is that my opinion is the only one that matters.

Even if people looked upon it with disgust, their opinions didn't matter. So I decided to love my body. Since I loved my body, I never had to worry about another gaze. Now nudity is not scary. My body is not a point of shame. It's the masterpiece that lets me move and act. I will show it to anyone, because no one can use it as a tool to shame me.

I don't like hair. For a long time I assumed I was giving into feminine standards for beauty by getting rid of it. Hair is gross, so I need to shave, shave, and shave. So I shave. Everything.

Really, I'm not doing it for anyone but myself. In the winter, when my shower is the only thing that sees my legs, I still shave every day. I think my body looks great without it. It's not a choice I make for anyone. Just me. I look the way my skin feels. I hate the way the hair feels. If a partner asked me to let it grow, I wouldn't. I get to decide what it's like.

I don't like make up. I've been looking at my face in the mirror for 21 years, untouched. I see it so much and it serves me so well that I've learned to accept its quirks and irregularities. It's asymmetrical. It's splotchy. There are dark circles and red patches.

I am, above all things, comfortable with my face. When I put make up on, I am telling the world and all who see me that I'm not comfortable with my face. I can't treat it that way. I don't like the way the oil and dirt feel. I don't like feeling like I'm wearing a costume unless there's an occasion to be wearing one. When I've been forced into makeup, I've felt like I've said to the world: My face isn't good enough for this occasion. Look at this instead. That's a blatant betrayal of my body. I can't do it.

Remember, no relationship is perfect. I want my body to be a certain way, but the world takes a toll. The fat on my thighs and in my tummy fluctuates. Too skinny. Dangerously skinny. Chubby. Too chubby. The pants don't fit anymore.

My weight has never been a stagnant thing. I don't think I have nervous break downs about it because I care what the world thinks of my weight. I just want my body to be one way. So when it's too much the other, I start to panic. I should accept it, just like I accept my face, but it's hard.

It's also very, very hard for me to accept the presence of gender in my body.

The idea that I'm a woman because I have breasts and a vagina and limited testosterone is so utterly disturbing to me. I am a woman because I am. If I had a penis, I would be no less a woman. I would be no less this woman. But no one would see it that way. Woman is in my soul. When I act "like a man," I'm just acting in the way that feels right. When my body "isn't feminine," I'm still "she." If I wield some element of masculinity, it's not because I want to "be" a man. It's because I want to give my body the chance to experience everything.

That's another awesome thing about bodies. Without my body I would not get to feel all the awesome feelings I do. I treat it right. I worship it. I eat the food it loves and avoid the food it doesn't. I touch it. Other people can sometimes touch it too, assuming they know the ground rules and that they're nothing more than a guest.

I immediately responded to my looming panic disorder and started taking medication because it was hurting my body. When my mental issues manifested themselves in the form of aches and pains, I rubbed my tummy, my chest, and my head. I promised to take care of them. I would not stop looking for a solution until I gave back to my body what wonderful things it gave to me.

When you look at your body, think of it as separate from yourself, for just a moment. It has selflessly served your every desire, asking only for food, water, rest, care. Then think of it as you. You are your body. Every moment you say to your body, "I hate you," or "I hate this thing about you," you're doing two things. You're hating yourself, and the container that has given you everything in life. Let you experience everything, exactly as you have.

Stop letting anyone tell you that there is a peak of bodily perfection. There isn't. Your body is you. Your body serves you. Like you, it will never be perfect.

But you can love it for all it's done. You can say thank you. Reward it. When it's in pain, you can care for it. When it's hungry, you can feed it. When it says: "I want that," you can both benefit from it.