Dear fifteen-year-old self,

Dear fifteen-year-old Jessica,

I’m sorry it took me so long to write to you, but I needed twice your lifetime to get this perspective.  I want you to hear me. Right now. Listen and believe what I tell you.

Your body is beautiful.  Right now, you have a bendy, healthy, chubby body. You have pink skin, twinkling eyes, and curly, albeit frizzy, hair.  You have curves and rolls and cellulite and stretch marks where your boobs grew super fast.  And I know that you look at yourself in the mirror and you think you aren’t good enough. You think that guys aren’t going to like you because you don’t wear single digit sizes.  And you hate that you can’t share clothes with your friends.  You are embarrassed to admit your actual bra size. You make silly faces in photos so that people won’t be able to see how you really look.  You begin the habit (one I am still breaking) of standing behind people in photos so that your body won’t show.  You are known as the funny girl, partly because you are quick witted and creative, but mostly so that people will like you despite how you think you look. 

 

I need you to know something, Jess—you are beautiful.  Really, truly beautiful. I look at pictures of you back then, and my heart aches for you.  I want you to see yourself the way I see you now, the way your mom sees you, and your dad, and your family, and probably some boys in your class—you are cute and pretty and happy and smart. Even with those weird blonde bang things! You are beautiful.

You will eventually gain weight, then lose it, then gain more, then lose more. You will struggle with your looks for years. You will date abusive sh!theads and boys with other girlfriends.  You will try every diet, see doctors and read books and cry and curse and take dangerous pills that make your heart skip beats trying to lose those curves.

And you will choose to date boys and men that are not worthy of you because they won’t embrace the real you. They will tell you they just want to be friends, or they don’t like you like that, or they have feelings for you but couldn’t date you in public because you are taller and thicker than they are.  You will meet these meek men, these wimps, these users and scoundrels and superficial assholes, and you will start to believe that these are your best options.  Losers who treat you like an afterthought. And you’ll put up with it because you don’t think you deserve better.

This will not only break your heart, but it will annihilate your self-confidence.

Why didn’t he want me? These questions echo in your head. Why didn’t he love me?

Listen to me, sweet girl, and I will tell you why.

Because. Just because.  Because they are selfish, or proud, or stupid, or weak. Because they are scared to take a chance, or they are hustlers.  Because they wouldn’t know a good thing if it slapped them across the smarmy face.  Because they are flawed humans who will eventually either become better humans or sh!ttier humans, but that’s not your problem, sweetheart.

It doesn’t matter why.  Those guys wanted you to change yourself, or hide yourself. And that never would have worked.

You can’t be happy being a shrinking violet, my dear.  It’s just not who you are.

Someday, sweet girl, I promise you that it will all make sense.  You’ll replace “I’m not good enough” in your head with “I’m pretty f-ing fantastic.”  And then, and only then, you’ll meet someone who LOVES you. All of you. You with stretch marks and You with unshaven legs and You with food poisoning. #diarrheaandvomitingfortwodaysstraight #heheldmyhairbackwhileIpukedandcried

And you know what? You will love him too! LOVE love. Not that “does he love me or hate me, Romeo and Juliet, I’m going to kill myself” bullsh!t love.  Your heart won’t hurt all the time—because love shouldn’t hurt!!! Damn it, Renee Zellweger and Julia Roberts and Pat Benatar and even Carrie Freaking Bradshaw, stop convincing girls that love has to be a tortured battlefield! It doesn’t. It can be easy, and peaceful, and good. Love can be light. And love can be deep. True love is like a tree that continues to root itself deeper and deeper over time while growing and spreading and blooming.

You will find this love, and you will be the healthiest you’ve ever been, mentally and physically.

Now, sweetheart, it’s not all going to be butterflies and rainbows shooting out of your eyes. Sh!t is going to get hard, but you’ll survive it, and you’ll come out the other side, walking hand-in-hand with your partner.  You’ll both giggle in bed when the dog toots.  And you’ll hold on to him like a life raft when you lose a friend.  He’ll support your crazy ideas and hobbies. He’ll ask you to marry him on a random Saturday at home in bed because he couldn’t wait another week until Valentine’s Day. He’ll tell you that you are beautiful while you are at your heaviest, and he’ll actually mean it. He’ll hold on to you during his toughest times, leaning on you, depending on your strength and dedication.  He’ll beam when he introduces you as his wife, and brag about you behind your back.  He’ll never ask you to hide who you are. Never. Not even once. Not even a little bit.

And, guess what? That weight thing won’t ever really go away. You will even gain twenty-five pounds in less than a year. But you know the difference? You’ll love every minute of it. Even when you only lose 5 pounds, 9 ounces, you couldn’t care less. Why not? Because you are a badass b!tch who just grew a freaking human being from the size of a poppy seed into the size of a watermelon. Except, instead of it being like a watermelon, it’s a FREAKING HUMAN. With teeth and eyes and fingernails and a brain and a heart and a soul.  From your body, that body you’ve cursed all your life, will come the greatest gift you could ever imagine.

And from then on, your stretch marks won’t be just hidden under your bra, but will travel up and down your sides and hips, like tiger stripes representing your fierceness and beauty.  And you will look in the mirror and see the pooch where your daughter twirled and stretched and grew for 37 weeks. And you’ll see the scar where she was pulled from heaven into this world.  You’ll know your “love handles” won’t ever slim down, and you are grateful because your daughter fits perfectly on the protrusions of your hips. You’ll see your vast bosom as the amazing parts of you that nourish your child and connect you to your ancestors.  Your body is beautiful, teenage Jessica. It is beautiful now, and it was beautiful then.  So stop worrying about how you look, and start doing some damn homework.  Seriously. I’m 31 and I still have to use my fingers to multiply by nines. Get on that, will you?

Love,

Future Jess