Ladies learning to love their bodies? Help!

When I started high school, I started getting taller and I stretched out and I wasn't a little fat girl anymore. I had bigger and smaller friends who always told me I was gorgeous (even though I didn't feel I had tried at all) and my dad never scrutinised me anymore about being "chubby". I stopped growing and suddenly I was getting bigger. My first stretch mark literally made me cry, and I thought my body was ruined and I told myself my body was forever destroyed and I had no hope of ever being beautiful again. For a while that's just how it was, and I just worked on being thinner, and even as I lost weight everytime I looked in the mirror all I could think was "that could be smaller", "remember when that wasn't there", "that needs to be gone by the end of the year". And despite being cocky as hell around other people, I would still never be fully satisfied. I would have periods when I got so down on myself, I would binge eat. Then I would try to throw up because my stomach was so full. I never could, but the whole situation was toxic, and I'm glad I eventually got it under control, although I was still somewhat in that "not good enough" mindset.

At some point, I had a big family drama, and I gained weight again. I stopped eating for a couple of weeks, but only because food seemed insignificant to the maelstrom in my brain. I was depressed as all hell. Sometimes I could not get out of bed. All the people I loved seemed to have betrayed me, and now all I had was myself. Anytime I could get out of bed, shower, or get into clothes that weren't my pyjamas, all I could do was thank my body for doing it despite me ignoring its needs. Anytime I had time to notice my body and the weight gain, and all my stretch marks and the bulges all my clothes were making, I didn't bother dwelling. What did it matter that my thighs were bigger than they used to be if all my brain could do was work on not self destructing? Seeing my that my body was still working and able to move and help me do the things my brain didn't want me to do instilled in me this intense gratitude for it, despite the fact that it had fat on it. My fat arms could still hoist me out of bed, and brush my teeth, and make me breakfast. My wobbly thighs could still heal all of the cuts I'd put on them, and carry me outside. I'd never given my body the love it deserved, and here it was helping pull me through the complete desolation of depression and anxiety. I started eating again, and eventually confided in my mum and friends for support, and I pushed myself to see a psychologist. I changed a lot of things about my life, and I'm so pleased to say the worst is far behind me. I'm fatter now than I ever was, but I love myself more everyday.

That's not to say I no longer wish to lose weight. But now I want to be able make my body powerful, fast, and strong, not just smaller. And I want to fit into the clothes I worked 12hrs a day on minimum wage while I wasn't eating to pay for before I grew out of them. It's logic now. Not hate. My body is perfect and beautiful, and it's not how it looks I want to change - it's how it can perform I want to change. Chances are it will look different as a result of this, but I won't be catering to my own self hate and the institutionalised body-policing when that happens.

Please ladies, remember that waiting for your perfect body to be happy is a losing game. You already have the perfect body. Love it.