Dear She,

We’ve been through a lot together, you and I. I still remember the first time you made me uncomfortable- it was in 5th grade, when someone told me I needed a bra, and I didn’t even know what that was. Later, there were bumps and curves I couldn’t make friends with. And there was an expectation of thinness, because thin meant perfect and smart and good. So I learned to wear control top tights and hold my stomach in, even though I only weighed 99 lbs.

When I had kids, I started to like to get big and round. It felt safe. It felt healthy. And after the babies, I got thin all over again, except for the scar from the c-section. I tried to be good. I tried to be perfect. I held onto my babies and held my stomach in.

My kids are gone now, She, and its just you and me. We are ignored by most, too old to be considered beautiful. I have sagging places and wrinkled places that expose my age. I have seen my friends starve themselves, inject their faces with chemicals, pay for their bodies to be altered. I think about joining that group sometimes. Then I remember the friends who have wasted away from cancer or bloated from chemo, or in wheelchairs from MS. Women who would have given anything to spend one more day with their family, regardless of appearance. And I look in the mirror of at my wrinkles and sagging skin  and I  think that sometimes just being alive is good enough -and I do not hold my stomach in any more.

Love, Me.

Age: 56