Every woven stitch represents each memory I have of my body.

The 1st is when I began to realize I had to wear bras, when none of my friends had to.

The 2nd is when I first noticed eyes were on me, the attention I did not want to receive.

The 3rd is when I was poolside at the first party I wore a bikini at.
I couldn't stop keeping my arms crossed over for cover.

The 4th is when I was in line for student ID pictures and the boy who stood behind me made an underlying joke about his enjoyment in looking at them.

The 5th was when boys began to ever so bluntly tell me of their perversion.

The 6th was having to online shop because name brand stores didn't have my size anymore.

The 7th was kindly declining every swim party I was invited to because I didn't want "the looks" anymore.

The 8th was when I sought help from the counselor at high school and she told me, "boys will be boys."

The 9th was deleting comments on my Instagram pictures.

The 10th was deleting my pictures on Instagram, leaving only pictures where I was in sweaters & jackets.

The 11th was waking up at 2am with a shooting pain from my lower back to my neck, whimpering in pain with tears.

The 12th was my mother holding me, apologizing for my body betraying me with pain infliction.

The 13th was wearing two bras so that classmates wouldn't comment how they looked under a polo uniform shirt.

The 14th was tracing the red indent in my skin after school, whispering apologies to my body for what I have done, but will continue to do again.

The 15th was yelling at "friends" to never speak to me about my body again.

The 16th was the self-depreciating jokes so I could beat my classmates to the punch line.

The 17th was the conversation I had with my mother at the kitchen table discussing surgery options.

The 18th was the appointment to see if I qualified.

The 19th was being told I would hear back by my insurance company in three weeks.
I heard back five days later.

The 20th was waking up at 4 am, driving to the hospital on the day I circled on my calendar as the "big day."

The 21st was waking up after surgery and whispering to myself, "Omg it happened, it's over."

The 22nd was bedrest with two bags of blood draining out of my body.

The 23rd was the stitch I popped while cracking my back post surgery.

The 24th was the continuous bleeding for six months after surgery, that I had to wait until it scabbed up

The 25th was nine bandaids under my prom dress so that the blood wouldn't seep through.

The 26th was having a medical pass around my neck, when I began to use the elevator and have classmates hold my backpack for me to walk to class.

The 27th was the rumors of having a "boob job," when I had to admit to a reduction which I didn't want to talk about it at all.

The 28th was being told I looked like I lost weight when even though I did, it was because of the surgery.

The 29th was the silence in the hallways, red faces and regretful faces watching me walk down the hallway, passing those who ridiculed me relentlessly.

The 30th was trying on bralettes at aerie for the first time. I couldn't help but begin to cry when I, for the first time, began to love the person looking back at me.

The 31st was the beginning of loving my body again.

The rest of the stitches are my journey.


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