happy in my skin

I have spent most of my life hating myself for my body's shape--like all girls have. Although, I have done this more secretively then others have and my hatred is partically spawned by the words and looks of others--many of who are people who are ment to be close to my heart but because of how they made me feel they are distant like the east and the west.

Often times when I say I hate myself... I'm really saying that I hate my body for the shape that it is in. I am not my body. I am not the cells that make up the skin and organs and muscles and blood of my body. I am the essance that looks out through the windows and feels things that can not be licked, kicked, or put in a backpack.

Yet when I look into the mirror all I see is my body. I am not my body, but my body is my home. The only home I have ever known. And, despite it's shape or size it has served me well over the years. It has protected me from: things I wasnt ready to experience, and from so much illness and things that would of hurt me. For this I am thankful and determined to love my body instead of hate it.

It's not easy. With the world around me screaming that my body should look a certain way... even my dreams are haunted by what is considered beautiful. But my body is beautiful no matter what shape or size it is. I know this... but I have a hard time believing it. I'm just not sure how to convince myself...

...to be happy in my skin.