I love my body because it is a vessel for me. I am not my body. I am the brain that makes people think and laugh. I am the heart that makes people feel comfortable and accepted. I am the legs that go on walks with my mom and the arms that wrap around my love and the face that smiles at puppies and babies on the street. I love my body because it carries me.

But, I don't love the vessel itself. And what separates myself from dislike and love is some pounds. Twenty pounds that I lose in spurts of motivation and gain in times of stress. I have enacted a threshold: One that says "if you weigh below this, feel free to love yourself. If you weigh above this, you won't."

I subscribe to the body positivity movement. Or, part of me does. In theory, loving your body despite how it fits into your jeans or how you look in that candid photo or how much it reads on the scale in your bathroom is a good thought. In practice, it isn't easy. And I can stare at the scale with tears in my eyes and fleeting thoughts of not eating for the rest of the day or week or month while half of my brain is still trying to convince the other half that we love this body.

I've instated a threshold. A number where if I'm below it, I'm happy. And if I'm above it, I'm not. Every time. A bad day turns good if I'm under it and a good day turns bad if I'm over it. I've lost and gained the same 20 pounds (sometimes less, sometimes more) more times than I can count.

When I'm down and at my ideal number, my stress level is almost nothing. I'm happy. I eat without feeling each bite be another ounce up next time I stand on the scale and I exercise without feeling like each step or each rep is another bite I can take. But those 20, 25, 30 pounds come back, and I'm unable to think of anything except my weight.

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I treat those extra pounds like an imposter like they aren't a part of me. I'm a lower number…Those pounds are just visiting. And once they exceed their welcome, I'll be back to me — the me I love.

But that shouldn't be. I am not split, I am not a combination of unacceptable and acceptable pounds. I am not made up of the things I am OK with and the things I hate.

I am me, and every version of me is worthy of love.

I will never be happy — I will never be able to love the vessel that carries me around — if I spend half of my time carrying around weight that I hate and half of the time worried that weight is going to come back. I am not two parts: parts to love, and parts to dispose of.

So, those extra pounds, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you aren't welcome. I'm sorry that I am terrified when I see you coming and try to rid myself of you as soon as you arrive. In the interest of allowing myself to live the longest and happiest life possible, I will try to find a place where my body and mind are both healthy.

But whenever you're here, you are a part of my body.

And I will do my best to love it.