I used to dream of flawlessness.
An unmarred expanse of skin.
Flat, unblemished perfection.

Like the skinny, pale peers marking my adolescence
all beauty
and boys chasing the hems of their skirts.

Mirrors were my enemy.
For months on end, I’d avoid them
unwilling to perceive myself –
the unquantifiable failures of an imperfect body.

When I did get trapped by my reflection there was nothing but disdain.
Minutes spent poking at fat and bemoaning the many blemishes sprouting from my face.

Ugly.
All I saw was ugly
for years.

I don’t know when it changed –
slowly or all at once.
But one day I looked in my mirror and saw something different.
A budding of appreciation
for every fold
all the hidden parts of my body:
curves creating shadow
flaws fashioning fervency.
A different kind of beauty
worth admiring.

I always believed learning to love myself would be an impossibility.
Unattainable in the body I have with a mind that often acts more like a battlefield.
I didn’t know it was a thousand little things, moments absent of self-hatred where I perceive myself outside the many negative narratives that have haunted.

The simplicity of a fact without judgment.
I am a body existing despite every doubt
every insecurity
every voice both internal and external telling me I do not belong.

And that is a powerful act of love.

Dear anxious thoughts,

I finally found it
halfway through a cup of earl grey
against the porcelain of a just used dish
in the far echoes of birds’ quaint chirping
while strolling through the park
Quiet
The hush of a mind settling into serenity.

Some people don’t think
rather
their minds are not incessant
forced to endure a constant monologue
seeking at every moment to be heard
Thought is intentional
a conscious effort.

My mind has always had a habit of running ahead of me
chasing fragments of ideas
pieces of abstraction that will never be whole
Body follows quick
heart racing
breath quickening
muscles tight
painful tension
Forced into incessant suffering
mentally, physically, emotionally
normal meant nothing more
than the desperate need to be free.

Then exhaustion
overwhelm finally winning me over
my body made stillness where it refused to be found
a clear rejection to so much stimuli
and laying in the quiet
created by a body truly weary
I found relief.

Now knowing this peace
I build mindfulness into my everyday
times of quiet
of tranquility
of the beauty in internal
silence.

Tell me about love.

A battleground I’ve made of myself since we experienced the first vague notions of attraction at a young age. Our first love was our best (and for a long time only) friend, the second a relentless bully who made a game out of our infatuation, the third not much more than an idea shrouding a girl who rarely ever looked my way. And this pattern has chased us across two decades and through every relationship. My perception of my value and worth has become the biggest blockade in my attempts at actualizing my deepest goals.

So, tell me about love.

Right now, in this stage of healing, every day incites a new challenge making me question the value of change. I’m left wondering way too often if bringing the person I have always dreamt of being into fruition is worth it when I’ve been faced with more inadequacy, frustration, and disappointment than anything. Right now, the closest thing to love I know is the delusions I’ve gotten comfortable sitting in, fanciful stories of starstruck romance and the easy integration into a community of my own. Fairytales made lie by the promise that they might one day come true. Limerence has become my single salve to reality even when I recognize it is poison I’m massaging into my soul. Daydreams turning everything bland sending me into an asocial cycle that sends me farther away from what I really want.
So, tell me about love.

Tell me all its truths. All the pain and ache and effort required to make it real. Next time I need to do it right, bring fantasy to life in a way that is healthy and freeing. So much of what I thought was love so far has been heartache and disappointment. But I believe, in the deepest part of my soul knows that one day the trying will mean everything.

So, tell me about love.

Because all I can hope for you that it is in abundance. And the closest I think I’ve come to love is all I’ve tried to give to you.