Once upon a time, my heart was heavy with secrets.
The secrets were locked up, deeply embedded in the layers and layers of shame that I held onto for the size of my body. These secrets and subsequent shame informed my every decision, chaining themselves to my ankle as I moved about in the world. These were secrets that I never full disclosed to a single person, telling them in part as necessary, but always holding the worst details close to the chest.
Like the time the frat boys chased me out of the party and down the street, calling me a fat whale and yelling about how disgusting I was. Or the time, I didn’t say no, but allowed you to continue, as tears streamed down my face, cloaked by the darkness of the room.
All of the moments that stacked up one against the next and sought to suffocate me, stifle all of the good I have to offer.
All of the moments that inform my ability to be a body image advocate and write this blog.
All of the moments, where I thought I was all alone, and that no one else could understand me.
All of the moments that I was connected to all of you, before I even knew I was worthy of dreaming a network like this could exist.
Now, what if I wrote all of these moments down, stringing them together one after the next as a record of how I went from being that girl, to being this girl? What if I released it publicly, sold it to people who wanted to know exactly what my history looked like in a format that allows for more words and a deeper message? What if I put it all on the line and jumped – dreaming up a net to catch me?
Mostly – what if people wanted to buy it?