If self-love was a person…

When I was 4, I remember meeting you for the first time. I was introduced to you through my mother. She made you such an important part of her life, it was inevitable our paths would collide one day. I didn’t quite understand you then. I thought you were kind of strange, if I’m being honest. You made people act in ways I had no interest in acting myself.

 

When I was 6, I was terrified of you. You followed me everywhere. To the playground, to the religious classes every Friday, to the birthday parties my mom forced me to go to. You even followed me on my first day of kindergarten, right into the classroom of 8B, and every following day after that. I couldn’t get rid of you, like my shadow, you were everywhere I looked.

 

When I was 8, I tried to ignore you, day in and day out. I did not want to be friends. You made me want to do things I was too shy for. When I wanted to disappear, you wanted to dance. When I wanted to hide, you wanted to sing. And when I wanted to be alone, you wanted to play with the other kids.

 

When I was 11, I started playing soccer. Or rather, I was strongly encouraged to play soccer by my mother who was concerned about my inability to befriend you. She forced you to come along. Telling me, if I had you by my side, every game would be a win. You watched on the bleachers, a safe distance from the field, as a girl walked by and asked me why I had hair on my legs before announcing the discovery ever so loudly. That was the first time I had heard someone spit my name out as if it was poison. I did not know how to react to the harsh sound of disgust in her voice. It was so different than the way you called my name, with gentleness and forgiveness. You wanted to run over to me, to hug me before the tears started to leave streaks down my red cheeks. But instead, you watched. You sat in silence as I tugged my shorts down to hide the hair that would be gone before next practice. You watched in silence when I needed you the most.

 

When I was 13, I hated you. Because it was as if you only got along with every other girl who dressed in crop tops and sundresses. And I liked wearing hoodies that covered my stomach and jeans that were a size too big. I liked wearing clothes that let me blend in. But you, you were born to stand out. Matter of fact, you thrived in the confidence.

 

When I was 17, I felt like something changed. I was different, but more importantly, you were different. I had grown sick of pushing you away when your presence felt so warm. You became closer, more intimate. We shared laughs, often at the expense of each other. I welcomed you into my life. You helped me dress myself in the mornings. I started wearing clothes that fit my body, showed off my curves and made me happy. Every time I would try something on for you, you would cheer me on as if my bedroom was the Victoria Secret runway and I, the angel. You would stand with me in the bathroom mirror, admiring the stretch marks on my thighs, the acne scars on my face, and the rolls on my stomach. Reassuring me I was perfect the way I was by placing the weighing scale on the highest shelf so I wouldn’t step on it every week, every morning every hour. You turned off the TV when they showed advertisements of women with unrealistic and cosmetically alerted bodies who tried to tell me how to become a more beautiful version of myself. You reminded me that I did not need to wear makeup every day, replacing my alarm clock with a later one so I could sleep in instead of straightening my naturally curly hair. You were everything I needed. I felt comfortable around you.

 

When I was 18, I came home running to you after my first heartbreak. You held me all night as I recalled him saying I was not his type anymore. He was interested in someone else. You watched as I pulled out my phone, searched her name on Instagram and dug myself deeper and deeper into this pit of self loathe. You pleaded for me to stop. Said it wasn’t worth it over a guy who fantasized about a girl with more filters over her pictures then her thoughts. I blocked you out of my mind, as I scrolled days, weeks, months down and understood why she was prettier, more popular, more feminine. A symmetrical cupid’s bow above her lips, a cute little nose that slanted slightly up, hair that flowed past her small back, an hourglass figure with no marks. I said in between sobs, that she had everything I didn’t and you yelled through frustration, that I had everything she did not. That this cycle had to come to an end. I cried myself to sleep that night, hoping I would wake up in a body that was not my own. And you cried with me, wishing I would understand that my body was my only true home.

 

When I was 19, I sat in shock as you confessed your love to me. You said you had loved me since we were 4, that there was never a doubt in your mind that I was the person you wanted to spend your life with. You listed my flaws as crevices that needed to be filled with care. You told me I was beautiful, not only for what I looked like but for who I was. For what I believed in, what made me happy, what inspired me to pursue my goals. I listened with so much curiosity as you went on and on, because no one had ever talked about me like you did. You spoke about me as if I had put the stars in the sky.

 

Well I’m 21 now, and I am slowly but surely falling for you as well. It’s taking me some time, and your patience is admirable. My feelings for you come in waves. There are days they’re all consuming, and I feel like I could accomplish anything with you by my side. Those days, there is a glow about me. I spend a few extra minutes in the mirror, admiring the art that is my body while I dress up, curl my hair and apply mascara to my lashes.

And then there are days, you feel so far away and disconnected. Those days, I have a hard time getting out of bed. I spend hours on social media, stalking the pages of celebrities with thigh gaps bigger than their actual thigh. I don’t doubt the logistics of it, but instead I begin to doubt myself. I turn to amazon and place detox teas into my cart, hoping an herbal assistance will make me a better version of myself. I fall victim to negativity that’s become an epidemic. Begin to re-convince myself that my body weight is a representation of who I am, almost like a political statement. These thoughts intoxicate my subconscious before I forcefully drive them out.

And I don’t think those days will cease to be, but your presence has taught me how to handle them better so that even when you are absent, I can recognize their damage.

I suppose I just need reassurance on some day more than others.

Our story is one that will remain a work in progress. We’ve come a long way from where we started, and I am so excited to see our relationship flourish in the future. I saw myself as a flower while you saw me as a garden.

And for that, I will always be thankful.

Yours truly,

Ravneet