Why is it so hard to love myself sometimes? Why can’t I look past the rolls on my stomach
and the dimples on my thighs and the bouncy flesh attached to my arms and see
the blood pumping and the muscles moving and the fact that I can walk and talk
and think and write and joke and move and make love and give love and
exist? My body is incredible. This extra (physical) weight I carry is a
direct result of being happy and being in love and these pounds that make me
cringe and make me doubt myself are direct physical proof that I am happy, the
happiest I’ve ever been, that I have found someone who loves me even with the
extra weight I carry (physical and otherwise).
Sometimes I just need to sit back and remind myself all of the things I
have and I shouldn’t take this vessel that transports me for granted. I am loved, and I need to learn to love
myself in return.
