Dear Body,

I’m writing this years later — not with regret, but with softness.
Softness for all the times I stared at you with disappointment.
For every time I tugged at my clothes to hide my arms, my thighs, my stomach.
For all the home remedies, hot wax, bleaching creams, tight shapewear I forced on you —
Not because I loved you, but because I couldn’t stand you.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t know that what I called imperfection was actually growth.

I hated you for stretch marks I never asked for.
I blamed you for facial hair I had no control over.
I cried over dark elbows, bloated days, pimples before festivals, and scars that refused to fade.
You became my battleground — but you were just doing your job.
You were growing, protecting, adapting — even when I couldn’t love you back.

I now know that beauty was never the absence of marks — it was surviving with them.

You carried me through teenage chaos, exam anxiety, heartbreak, and all those days when I didn’t feel "enough."
And still, you never gave up on me.

Today, I thank you.
For being real. For being strong. For holding me when I couldn’t hold myself.

To every girl still staring at her belly, thighs, upper lip, or acne-covered cheek —
You don’t need to shrink to be seen.
You don’t need to lighten, tighten, or hide.

You are not a project. You are a person.

So here’s my apology — and my promise:
I will no longer ask you to be flawless.
I will only ask you to be you.

With love,
A little older, a lot wiser, and finally free.


🌿 Ever wanted to write a letter to your younger self?
This is your safe space.
💌 Share your story, vent your pain, or simply feel seen — because healing starts when we speak.