signal in the mirror
the problem with loving your body is that it keeps changing its mind.
i used to hate my body. too small, too big, too something. i thought if i punished it enough, it would learn obedience. i didn’t realize it was already doing everything it could just to stay alive.
i’ve always been told i was big. down there. endowed. it became a punchline, then a compliment, then a currency. something to trade for closeness, or at least the illusion of it. people said it like it was a blessing. i learned to say thank you. but every thank you felt like a small lie. a way of pretending the rest of me didn’t matter.
the truth is, i built my confidence around the one thing i didn’t earn. i let it speak for me, flirt for me, apologize for me. everything else. the softness, the scars, the quiet in my shoulders. i hid behind jokes. behind sheets. behind the kind of lighting that forgives.
the bathroom light is cruel in a way sunlight isn’t. it exposes the edits. the scars that aren’t stories, just leftovers. sometimes i stand there, listening to the hum of the fan, and wonder who taught me to apologize for existing in a shape.
on good nights, i forgive it. i touch the soft parts like relics, trace the shape of it like weather maps. i tell myself survival counts as progress, even when it doesn’t feel holy.
the truth is, the body doesn’t want to be loved. it wants to be survived. and sometimes i think loving your body just means agreeing to stay in it a little longer.