You are beautiful just as you are.

I think it was a few weeks ago where someone, through a comment on another site, said they didn’t want to imagine how much it would cost my partner to feed me. I was put on a diet when I was ten. If you’re counting, that means my body has been for other people’s comments for more time than it wasn’t. I am not unique.

This weekend I was walking down a Philadelphia street looking for the place I was supposed to be. I traveled behind two twenty-somethings talking about when they used to be thin, but thought they were fat. “If I had that body now,” the one said. And then I turned the corner, thank god, because I wanted to shake the stupid right out of that girl. I wanted to shake the Cosmo and Marie Claire and Kate Upton as curvy and show her what it really means to be fat. And then I would tell her that it’s pretty awesome. I would blow her mind with how little I care about what other people think.

Especially, Dear Woman Who Was Called Fat, when your fatness or curvyness or thinness or any part of your body is questioned under the guise of care. No, no. Fuck that. Do not listen to it. Do not listen to it for one damn minute. Do not, ever, starve yourself under the premise that someone will love you more. Especially yourself.

Because then you’ll end up thin with the self-hate and loathing of a former fatty and former fatties are the worst at perpetuating fat hate. Yes there are exceptions, but the former fatty part is true. I will go toe-to-toe with anyone that says otherwise, so spare me.

You could very well end up dying. There’s that too.

And the people who will congratulate and give pats-on-the-back to the fatty shamers are disgusting. They are bigots plain and simple and hide under “health” and “concern” when they care very little about your well-being and more about how great they are. As my friend said over the phone to me two days ago “thinness is overrated.”

Ding, ding, ding.

Here’s what I know to be true: no one who really loves you gives a shit if you are fat, thin, purple, sideways, upside down, spotted or a zombie. They love you. All of you. From the tips of your toes to the top of your head. If someone comments on your body, that person is being an asshole first and foremost. You don’t get to do the punching and then be congratulated for the aim. It doesn’t work like that. The fatty shamer gets called out for wreaking emotional violence on someone else. It’s not cool.

Ever.

I have stretch marks that you could drive a car down. It makes me, me. It’s our imperfections that matter in this life. It’s our scars that make us beautiful. I would rather be a fat, stretch-marked mother of two with an opinion, than a silent woman dying to be thin. Me — and you as you are — is enough. For today, for every day, for eternity.

Love you and if you lose a pound, that’s fabulous. If you don’t, that’s wonderful too. But know in your heart, Dear Woman Who Was Called Fat, you ‘re stunning.