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LEARNING TO BREATHE IN A BORROWED BODY.
<p>Today felt heavy. I carried too many words that weren’t mine, words people threw at my body like they had any right to shape how I see myself. Church, home, friends, family… everyone has something to say about my tummy, my clothes, my stretch marks, my size. They poke, they compare, they laugh, they judge. They don’t see how much it actually hurts.</p><p><br/></p><p>I keep trying to play it off so I don’t look sensitive. But inside, it stings. I take pictures of myself for someone I care about, and I’m so ashamed that I hold my breath, twist my body, hide what I can. Sometimes I feel like nothing I do is enough. Sometimes I worry that if I stay like this, I won’t be wanted or loved.</p><p><br/></p><p>And yet, I’m just sixteen. Just trying to exist. Just trying to breathe. I don’t hate my body. I didn’t, at least, until everyone else tried to convince me that I should.</p><p><br/></p><p>I’m afraid of being honest with people I care about. I’m scared that if I show the broken parts, they’ll run. But maybe I deserve people who stay. Maybe I’m allowed to outgrow those who hurt me. Maybe my worth isn’t tied to how flat my stomach is.</p><p><br/></p><p>Maybe I’m allowed to be loved, even as I am.</p><p><em><br/></em></p><p><strong><em>The things I think before I sleep</em></strong> series pt 1 </p>
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