For me, it means staring at myself naked in the mirror. Rubbing my hands all over my body. Feeling the contours of my skin. Accepting all of the lines, bumps, and bends. It means leaning over and running my fingertips over the scars of years of knife point self care. Accepting the way my skin bubbles from adolescent coping. Admiring my will to persevere through the battlefield of youth to the cold war of early adulthood. It means inhaling and exhaling my stomach out so that it almost breaks free from my body. Watching the expansion and contraction of my body taking up space. It means feeling the coarse hair between my thighs and not wanting to shave it off. Allowing it to grow wild and free like my mind would have without the constant feeling that I am the only one who would appreciate my body. Staring at myself naked. In the mirror.