I have thought I Was the Ugliest Creature on the Planet my entire life.

Stretch marks.

Saggy skin.

Cellulite.

The little collection of body changes that somehow convince my brain at random times that I am the ugliest creature to ever grace this planet.

Then I remember something important.

Have you ever seen a blobfish?

Now THAT is an unfortunate-looking little dude.

And honestly, even the blobfish is out there living its life without worrying whether its thighs touch or if its stomach hangs a little when it sits down.

Meanwhile, I spent a ridiculous amount of my life believing that what my body looked like was the most important thing about me.

Not what kind of person I am.

Not how I treat people.

Not the fact that I’ve raised kids, loved hard, survived difficult things, laughed until I cried, and somehow managed to keep moving forward through all the chaos life throws at us.

Nope.

I was over here judging myself because of stretch marks.

The same stretch marks that tell the story of a body that has lived.

The saggy skin that came with age, experiences, weight changes, and simply existing as a human being.

The cellulite that apparently every woman on earth is expected to pretend doesn’t exist despite the fact that most of us have it.

For years, I looked at my body as a project that needed fixing.

Now I’m trying to look at it as the vehicle that’s carried me through life.

And some days that’s easier than others.

Some mornings I wake up feeling confident.

Other mornings I catch my reflection and immediately start mentally preparing an apology to everyone who had to witness it.

Progress isn’t a straight line.

But I’m slowly learning that life is not measured by how flat my stomach is, how smooth my skin looks, or whether I fit into some unrealistic beauty standard that changes every five minutes anyway.

Life is about experiences.

It’s about the people we love.

The memories we make.

The laughter that leaves us snorting in public.

The adventures.

The mistakes.

The growth.

The moments that take our breath away.

None of those things care what size jeans you’re wearing.

So while I still have moments where I pick myself apart, I’m trying to remember this:

My body is the least interesting thing about me.

And that’s not a bad thing.

Because I am so much more than stretch marks, saggy skin, cellulite, or the reflection staring back at me in the mirror.

Besides…

The blobfish still has me beat.

—

Signed,

A recovering member of the “my worth is determined by my appearance” club. 😆❤️