Today started as a bad body image day.
I felt it with my feet hitting the floor as I got out of bed.
Wanted to cry as I pulled my leggings on. Felt them squeeze my thighs and belly, and inch over weight I have gained. (Yes, I’ve gained pandemic weight, and logical me KNOWS that’s ok).
Launched an internal verbal attack on my fine lines, wrinkles, sun damage, thin lips.
Then I walked to the mirror to take this picture, to document that even when you feel good about yourself and how you look, bad days happen.
I took the picture, disgusted.
Then I put my phone down, looked at myself, and said out loud:
“Stop”. I felt tears sting, and let them fall.
Then looked at a belly that grew and birthed my babies.
Thighs that have carried me through the depths of abusive hell into the light of freedom.
Skin weathered from years of living, a life I’m blessed to have.
Then my shoulders relaxed and I smiled.
I am beautiful, I am strong, I am worth loving.
I have a body that shows life, and I love everything about it.