My journey to love
Working with my tattoo artist pretty much killed whatever little self esteem I had. He kept making comments about the size of my stomach and ass, kept saying how I must have bad genes. Other people followed his lead, and started making jokes about my tendency to get fat, or the way I had to split my lunch into small portions. Nobody cared the receptionist had to have a break for lunch. Everybody made sure I feel ugly and oversized. And I did. And then dance lessons started, and capoeira lessons. And a lot of sweat and hard work. And I truly saw myself. This is my body, the one that deserves all the care and attention in the world. Nobody can bring me down anymore.