A Love Letter

You are constantly analyzed and found lacking. No matter how much you give, you always come up short. Too think and too squishy. Too flat and too wide. Too pale and too rough. Too wide and too round. You are my body, and these are all the lies I tell about you.

You are my body that carried three babies. My body that birthed, nursed, and rocked them. My body that climbs, lifts, and catches. My body that is a safe space for my babies' tears. You are my body, and you are so much more than the sum of your parts.

You wake early each morning and work long into the night. You rise to make snacks and play games. You stretch and bend. You sweat and grow stronger. You hug, cry, and speak. You connect me to the other souls around me. You are my body, and you are beautiful.

Your beauty isn't found in how you look in the eyes of the world, but in the work you do. It is hard work. It is holy work. It is work that is deserving of my thanks and my admiration. You are my body, and I will fight to love you.

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