In a life with infinite options and endless possibility, I choose recovery. I choose it in the face of adversity, I choose it under pressure, and I choose it when my brain tells me to do otherwise. I choose it for the authenticity, I choose it for the self-acceptance, and I choose it in the name of freedom.
I still know women like my mom. They absolutely detest getting older. They shake incredulous heads at the idea that perhaps they could accept another version of beauty. They are far from the midlife bloggers who stand in the bright sun, taking selfies or Periscopes of themselves, hooting about this and that, exuding confidence.
Relating to my body like a best friend changed everything. For so long, my mind was a loud, critical, bossy perfectionist who treated my body like a disobedient servant. My mind had to shift to seeing my body as an equal, a peer, a wise being with needs and longings and a tender language all its own.