"I'm still a stick!" I wailed... but the truth is I'm not... and I'm kind of glad.
Sixteen year old me was not happy with her body... she cried over her flat chest and bony limbs. People would wrap their fingers around her wrist and in a shocked and appalled voice say "You're sooo skinny!"
Thirty-two year old me isn't perfectly confident either... I sometimes pinch my squishy belly and sigh... but I also sometimes catch a glimpse of my reflection as I'm getting in the shower and wink at the woman (because that is what I am) in the mirror...
It's true... I'm much more pear shaped than I was then... but I'm also much more sure... sure that my worth is not wrapped up in my weight... sure that my friends are my friends because they think I'm kind and we have common interests... not because of the way my jeans fit... sure that my husband loves my body whether it's a size 2 or a size 20.
I'm not skinny anymore... and I'm OK with that.