I can’t believe I’ve lived 22 years in this world and I’ve never gone a full day in my life feeling beautiful, or even just secure. I’m looking through a folder I’ve hidden all my “ugly” full body photos in over the last year as I’ve gone through the hardest year of my life and

slowly put on 50 lbs and in every photo my eyes get drawn to the same parts of my body that “aren’t that bad”. And for the first time in my life, I’m sitting here looking at my body at the biggest I’ve been since my freshman year of high school and I’m like...

I still have a beautiful mouth. I still have a beautiful face. I still have a beautiful clavicle. I still have a beautiful ribcage. Damn, it’s almost as if all the things you love about yourself are still a part of you regardless of how down you’ve been. It’s almost as if

Your size actually forreal doesn’t matter because your size isn’t taking away the things you find beautiful about yourself. And I’ll probably delete this thread because it’s so dumb. Like bitch this whole time I’ve been looking at my photos and seeing how I felt, not how I looked