But here’s the thing: every once in a while, I catch this peculiar feeling of nostalgia for times that were markedly bad . I think I feel nostalgic for these moments because of the kinship the moments require with yourself. The awareness, the attention, the tending, it’s like meeting yourself for the first time. It might sound trite, but it’s true.

My body is not a blank slate. I’m learning to be okay with that. I’m also learning that my body is not a thing I need to preface.

Sometimes, there is a fantastic safety in the big light being turned off. When it’s dark, we can imagine different bodies. When it’s dark, we can relax into imperfection. I also know the finality in the big light being turned off. The disregard, the lack of care, the message that if you want to keep it in the dark, you probably should.