I questioned my very existence, my entire life. Only a child, thoughts not yet whole, never exposed to the world. A roof over my head, to keep the rain out. Clothes to keep me warm, and shoes so my feet do not blister. How could I possibly have felt the way I did; empty, silenced, dust that divided into air.

I have memories that consistently fade. Memories of me truly acting as a child. Not a single thought of negativity ever crossed my mind. I would choose what I wanted to wear with no second thought if I would look bad in it. My thoughts consisted of the games that I wanted to play with my sister, and how great the hug my Father gave me would be when he came home from work. Or how much sweeter my Mother’s tenth kiss would feel on my cheek.

My fears were little, as my mother would always reassure me that everything would be ok. I’d fear that a rainy day would mean I could not practice riding my scooter down the steep hill around the corner with the pretty plant on it. I feared that my pet turtle might roll on her back and be unable to turn around, so I always checked on her before I slept and when I woke. Or that the wind would mean we could not build a fire for s’mores and cocoa.

A scar the size of a cat’s paw marks my memory. The day, I do not remember, nor the time but the actions and words that were said that day didn’t fade. My mother had woken an hour earlier to make me and my sister breakfast. She always helped me pick my outfit the night before, while I would choose what jewelry and hair clips I wanted to wear. Before leaving she would bend one knee and close her eyes, I’d close mine also. Like music to my ears she would pray over me, then kiss my cheek and send me on my way.

When I arrived at school I did not act different, dress different, or speak different. I went to the classroom and sat in my assigned seat, I read and drew, sung and learned. Then came recess, ‘’Line up!’’ My teacher said. From one to twenty she would count every child. ‘’Chest up, hands behind your back, and March!’’ I made my way to the slide area where I would go over and over again. Then two kids, twins, one boy and one girl came near me and each put pressure on my shoulders until my knees weakened and I sat on the floor. Then, as if it were an absolute fact that they made a chart of and wanted to present they said ‘’YOU ARE FAT’’ while squeezing and pinching my stomach until it was red and printed with a hands finger tips, then the other followed the words said to me ‘’YES, YOU ARE FAT’’

I did not know what that word meant so I did not say anything back to them. The way they said that word was not in the way that one would scream, but in a firm statement. They spoke to me like a child being disciplined harshly. It made my eyes water when I looked at my red belly and it was a feeling I could not control. That day I wanted to ask everyone what ‘’fat’’ meant, but I did not.

Through the years I began to become more self-conscious about everything on and of me. What I spoke, if I was cool enough, if I had a boyfriend. What my body looked like, how I smelt, what my room and clothes looked like. It consumed my life and drowned me in a mental war with myself. Everywhere I looked, what I had was never good enough and how I looked was not ok. I began dieting and exercise because I thought that if I looked better than I would feel better. That somehow if I lost that golden number of weight off my body I would be more energetic, have a clean room, or wake up earlier.

This led to extremes, with every diet I always thought ‘’this is it, this is the secret, trick, and magic pill that everyone else has.’’ I thought that someone took it from me, that the freckles on my cheeks, my muscular legs, the squishy stuff at the bottom of my stomach. It was because I was hated by someone and I needed to change. I would live off of salads and constantly base my exercise around the highest calorie burn, losing weight became my life goal. When I began to become dissatisfied with this obsession I would look at images of girls that looked happy, with the ‘’perfect’’ things in life, this lasted for three long years. A cycle of diet, binge, exercise, repeat.

I do not remember the exact moment but I realized that every woman in my life and around me had the same chains I did, as if we were competition and needed to be better than one another. I wanted to know why I created my own cell, and even though I had the key in pocket I choose to remain there.Through this I found some of the most amazing souls such as Cambria Joy, Kaisa Keranen, Ashley Graham, and Dani Spies. These women did not give me the answers, it was something better. They showed me that I had the answers within myself. They helped me discover true and lasting happiness.

They were the only women that didn’t try and sell me happiness. They said it was a mindset, a way of life. They said that in this very moment I had enough I said enough, I was enough. That in this time I was and am beautiful simply for being me a complete individual with every single thing on my body being there on purpose, with reason. It took tears of realization, that the truth and happiness was not a goal, a product, a change of appearance. It was within me, my perspective, my thoughts, and how I spoke to and of myself.
 

Now when I exercise, I base it around whatever I feel that day. I move because I have legs that move and a heart that beats. I view food as fuel for my precious body that has never failed me. It has fought for me when I was sick and worked overnight when I broke and scratched it. All the cruel things I did and said to it and it still works. To love myself is to be happy, not when I achieve a goal, but in this very moment be satisfied and thankful for who I am as a whole for I am enough.