A Letter To My Younger Self About Beauty And Acceptance

Four years ago, I was suffering from an eating disorder, crippling depression, and undiagnosed Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. Today, I am happy, confident, and getting better every day. This is the closest I can get to traveling back in time and reassuring my younger self that it will get better.

Dear 18 Year Old Rachel,

You are beautiful. I'm sorry that you don't know that. I'm sorry that you spend every second doubting yourself and wondering when the day will come that you can finally be happy and believe that you are beautiful. I'm sorry that you tear yourself apart trying to find acceptance of yourself, reaffirming your beauty one second and denying it the next.

I'm sorry that you've been taught these stupid, meaningless standards of what is "cute" and "sexy" and "pretty", and I just want you to know that it's not your fault that you're imprisoned by them. I want you to know that one day you will overcome these ridiculous societal impositions and you will know you are beautiful despite whatever negativity you may face.

I'm sorry that you've spent your entire life thinking you're not good enough, that people love you only for your intelligence or sense of humor or kindness. I'm sorry that you console yourself with those attributes. I'm sorry you feel like they're your "redeeming" qualities, when really they are just qualities. You are intelligent, funny, and kind, but you are also beautiful.

You have thick, gorgeous hair, whether it's long or short or black or blonde. You have green eyes like gemstones, and strong, well-shaped brows. You have freckles that spot your face like stars in the night sky, reminding you of every day you spent on your grandparents' boat in the middle of the Chesapeake Bay summer after summer.

You've got one of those classic hourglass figures, whether you're a size 10 or 22. You have breasts and hips and an ass and legs – they might get bigger or smaller, flabbier or tighter, but they are still yours. You've got tattoos, each with a story, and they all make you proud. You have a couple scars, but you don't mind showing them; they are part of you, and they tell your story almost as well as you can tell it yourself.

I'm sorry that the boy you like never notices you. I'm sorry that at party after party guys don't approach you, or at least not the ones you want. I'm sorry that you feel like you've gotten the short end of the stick, and that you've had to tell yourself thousands of times, "the right one will come along, some day. Just wait". I know you're tired of waiting. I'm sorry you've had to wait so long to feel attractive. I want you to know that people do think you're beautiful, but that's not what matters.

I'm sorry you care so much about what men and other women think. I wish I could show you what you're going to be like in four years – confident and unafraid and wanted. You're going to grow so much. You're going to be so proud of yourself.

But I wish I could spare you the pain you're going to experience. I wish I could be there in your room in that tiny apartment in north Philadelphia, and while your thoughts are racing through your mind so quickly and so heavily, I could pat you on your back and tell you it will be okay. Maybe it would comfort you, because I am the only person you can trust completely. Maybe it would stop the seemingly-endless spiral that you fell into of binge eating and starving yourself, not sleeping and having panic attacks too frequently. Maybe it would stop you from getting up at 1:30 am the night of August 4th, 2013 and trying to move your furniture around by yourself. Maybe you wouldn't catch that glimpse of yourself in the mirror and lose control. Maybe you wouldn't find yourself lying in a hospital bed, crying over all the things you wish you could fix and worrying about where you'll go from here.

But I can't go back in time. Those things are going to happen, and you have no clue. You're still soldiering through, chin up, silently praying things will get better. You have no clue.

I'm sorry your mom and dad don't know what's going on. I'm sorry they're not asking the questions they should have when you went from 165 pounds to 133 pounds in 6 weeks – how did you lose so much weight so quickly? are you doing it in a healthy way? are you okay? should we be worried? I'm sorry they don't see that there's anything wrong. It's not going to be easy, but you're going to have to forgive them. You are their baby, and they don't want anything bad to happen to you. They don't fully understand it all yet.

I want you to know that it will all get better, and you're going to really love yourself one day. You aren't lacking anything except confidence and peace of mind. You are just as funny as you think you are, you're so smart, and your devotion to humanity will drive you to achieve your dreams. And you are beautiful. You are so beautiful. Not beautiful*, not ~beautiful. Beautiful. Period.