To The Woman Who Commented on My Body

Ithad been some time since I’d been compelled to punish my body simply for existing as it was meant to. I hadn’t stepped on a scale in over a year. I no longer counted calories or meticulously weighed my food in an effort to consciously restrict. I ate when I was hungry and without judgment. I didn’t spend hours over the toilet bowl or agonize about the best place to hide my stash of laxatives. In short, I had reached a place of body acceptance — and occasionally admiration — for the way that my body had persevered through a decade of self-inflicted harm. <a href="https://medium.com/age-of-empathy/to-the-woman-who-commented-on-my-body-e78280a12743">Website</a>