Here is something that is unbelievably hard for me to post. But I feel like I should. This is my stomach, in a bikini, while sitting. No angles, no editing, no helpful lighting. I’m not flat, not muscled, toned, or sexy. My love handles/hips are over sized. I have folds, and chub, and stretch marks. And none of that. Not a single damn thing about that, makes me any bit less than anyone, any bit less beautiful, or human. I am a “real woman” because I am a person identifying as female. If I were curvier, or slimmer. I’d be no more, no less, the same person. What I am trying to say, in response to the anonymous message I received earlier. Having put on weight in my recovery, makes me no more, and no less of a person. The numbers on my pants, scales and nutrition labels. No longer control my entire life. And that’s pretty great. Sorry for rambling. But I just want every person struggling with a disordered relationship with food, to know. You can make it out. This doesn’t have to be a death sentence.
i admire your courage. c: