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What does accepting your body really mean?

It’s a question because I don’t know that there’s ever just one answer to this.
In my mind, accepting my body would mean to be able to like every stretchmark, saggy boobs, the fat around my belly, on my thighs, on my arms, on my calves and my back, the cellulite that will probably never go away. It would mean that after liking them I would be able able to understand they are part of my story, as much a part of me as every thought, loving or unloving towards me or others. But see, thoughts are not visible. I am not ashamed that people will see my thoughts, that they’ll will witness my feelings. I know I can conceal those, but I can’t hide my body. There is this constant ping-pong between what I know is the right, healthy way for myself, and what I actually feel and think about my body. The saddest thing is that when I was thinner, I wasn’t in love with my body either and now I am longing for that body I wasn’t appreciative of.
You want to hear another sad thing? I have several friends who are more or less my height but weigh at least 10 kg less (maybe even 15 or more) and they are not happy with their bodies either. They don’t talk about it, but I know. I know because I was doing that, I know because that is what we do.
I am working on loving my body as it is, I promise I am, but I am terrified that I might gain even more weight.
I was talking to my good friend the other day and I had the revelation that I might be focusing so much on how my body looks because I am avoiding looking at other parts of my life; it’s the perfect decoy.
Any thoughts?

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