Since I was a kid, I’ve had the sneaking suspicion that I was my favorite. Like, of all the humans in the world, I wanted to be me. It wasn’t arrogant or egoic, it just felt true—I wanted to be this girl, this woman. Alongside this realization, since childhood, there have also been massive feelings of not good enough, unworthiness, and even the idea that ‘I am the worst person in the world, just human trash.’

These thoughts have often overshadowed the deeper truth—the natural love of myself—but the love remained there, underneath the pain.

It’s not a self-esteem thing. Or any kind of positive attitude or affirmation. It’s a very real inner knowing, deep in the bones, that this is who I want to be. I wouldn’t trade her in for any other human if given the chance. I want this body—with these arms, this face, these desires, these challenges. I don’t want their body, their life. Every detail—my nails and hair and hips and skin—with all of its ‘flaws’—I want it all. It’s built perfectly for me and my purposes.