Hey Girly.

Gosh. We’re going through some changes, aren’t we? It wasn’t too long ago that we could drink black coffee on an empty stomach, or devour countless Jack-in-the-Box tacos, or say “yes” to shooting tequila at midnight for the sake of shooting tequila at midnight. Nowadays we don’t even want to do those things because nowadays we respect our GI tract. We also never compromise on sleep. In fact, speaking of sleep, aren’t you glad we finally did that sleep study last year? I swear, I can’t even remember how it felt to sleep without our C-PAP machine. We may look like a cyborg, but at least we sleep like the dead.

Remember when the first gray hairs on our head appeared a decade ago? I’ll admit it: I was scared. We were only 26 and I didn’t realize gray hairs grew in that early. Moving our part from left to right helped for a while, but I think we ultimately did the right thing by going blonde.

26 was a big year, wasn’t it? We lost all that weight with those awful Jenny Craig meals, and everyone showered us with praise. Our calves and arms were sticklike, and our muscles disappeared, but we were told it was a good thing that we could squeeze into an extra small. Remember how some of the meals didn’t require being frozen? All we had to do was cut open the plastic pouch and squeeze lunch onto a plate. I swear, for the rest of our lives, I will never do that to us again.

Listen. I took us to that stupid clinic because I was convinced we weren’t good enough. I just…I had just had enough of people referring to us as “curvy” in a tone that made it obvious they were thinking of a different word. I was tired of feeling mom’s eyes on us every time our stomach spilled over our jeans. I was tired of dad’s jokes about the span of our hips, and I was tired–so tired—of being made to feel defective. This was 10 years ago, before anyone talked about “body positivity” or “self-love.” This was before brave souls stood up and said, “I’m fat and sexy and proud.” This was before I knew that loving myself—loving us—meant a heck of a lot more than shopping sprees and occasional massages. I had to learn to love us. I’m sorry I learned the hard way.

I’ll admit that for a little while, it felt exciting watching the number on the scale decrease. Every time it happened, I felt like we gained another degree of acceptability. 10 more pounds and mom will stop it with her looks. 15 more pounds and dad will quit it with the jokes. 20 more pounds and oh my gosh, we might actually be “pretty.” Of course, “pretty” didn’t quiet the voices inside that insisted we were still “defective.” No diet, however restrictive, was going to do that.

I remember when we hit our goal weight and officially entered the “maintenance phase”—a completely unrealistic part of the program where we were supposed to go back to eating real food without gaining back any weight. Hah. It took no time at all before that number on the scale crept back up. I remember the Jenny Craig employee looking at us with mild, but perceivable shock and disappointment. I yelled, “But I eat healthy!” What I wanted to say—and perhaps, what I should have said—was, “I love eating real food and I think I look just fine.”

We never officially quit Jenny Craig, but we also never went back after that appointment. After months of casual starvation, I wasn’t going to devote an hour of our precious weekends to recounting every single indulgence to a woman holding a clipboard. The whole thing ended quietly, and then the real work began: the real work of loving you, no matter what other people said.

I love that we gained the weight back. I love that we found a therapist. I loved when we joined that gym and learned how to throw around a kettlebell. I loved stepping out of the shower that one day and catching how swollen and shapely our biceps looked after months of training and eating right. I love that we’re no longer sticklike. I love that we are strong.

And poof, we’re 36. Our gray hairs are more abundant. The lines on our forehead are more pronounced. Our curves are softer, our skin is thinner, and the tequila bottle usually goes untouched. We are going through some changes, and I am so grateful to have you with me for the ride.

I love you.