I sat down to write about body image and disordered eating and I ended up writing about my experience growing up female, queer, with breasts, in a patriarchal society. Typical.
You are not made up of parts. You are one whole person.
I don’t always hate my body. There are times, mainly when my clothes are off, mainly in the afterglow of really good queer sex, when I lie in bed, exposed but not feeling so, with someone else’s head resting on my chest, and I don’t feel anything but happy and contented in my body. Grateful. It is a marvelous thing, this cohesive organism that continues to do a thousand things on my behalf each minute, this body that is working for me even as I go about my life. There are times when my body is just my body.