Just Say It

Just say it.

Just say it so that everyone can hear.

You are afraid that unloveability lies in your plate. On your hips. Is the soft folds of your belly.

You're terrified that this is it. One last bite. One final dessert into oblivion.

You think fat is fundamentally unloveable.

And you think your fat.

Scary, huh?

You have do much to do. So many responsibilities. And still. Still you are expected to look good. Not let yourself "go."

Go where?

To a place where you can be comfortable in my body just as it is? Where you can stop wondering, is this it, have I let it all go?

Does this dream possibility exist where we're free of the concern that we're too weighty, in not our words or our thoughts or our truths, but in my thighs?

I'm aging.

I'm growing weary of the fear that keeps me wondering: Is there a point too far that I have to let myself go before I'm no longer an acceptable version of myself? Until I'm free from the disparity that separates silver fox from frumpy cow?

I need to be free.

We need to be free.

We need to be released from the fear that constrains us in ways that are irreconcilable with our values.

Put a bathing suit on. Don't stay inside pondering the dimples in your legs when one day you will know how much you lost.

When you were 20, you weren't good enough. When you were 30, you weren't good enough.
When you were...

This pattern means good enough is not an option unless you make it one.

You decide.

You can count the calories on the wall like so many days you died when you could have lived, tasted freedom instead of fear, decided that today you are good enough.

Because you always have been.