When I was younger, I thought I would have figured it all out by now. I thought my 30s would arrive with answers. Confidence. Certainty. The perfect career. The perfect relationship. The perfect body. Especially the body. For years, I treated my weight like a temporary situation. I wasn't fat—I was just fat for now. I assumed that by the time I reached my 30s, I would have become the version of myself I had spent so much time imagining. The thinner version. The after picture.

I don't need someone who loves me despite my size or because of my size. I want someone who loves me enough to see everything else too.