Feminist on the Bayou

Everyone hates Valentine’s Day. I used to hate it too. I hate red roses. I hate teddy bears holding hearts. I find chocolate in heart shaped boxes less appealing than chocolate presented in any other form. That being said, for the past few years I have celebrated Valentine’s Day and loved every minute of it. And I’m going to tell you why.

Valentine’s Day is the day I celebrate my anniversary. It’s an anniversary that I share with no one else. An anniversary that doesn’t even correctly reflect the date I honor. But I call it my anniversary because it is the day each year that I take the time to reflect, honor, and renew the promise I made three years ago- that I would not only stop destroying my body but actively learn to love it and myself. Since then I have slowly expanded what that means to me, gradually pushing myself into new paths of healing that are often uncomfortable and terrifying and, in the end, reaffirming. My next goal is admitting to the people in my life that this is part of who I am and that this is what I celebrate on Valentine’s Day. I can count on both hands how many people know about my eating disorder and only twice did I actually tell the full story, speak honestly, and express myself fully. With the exception of those two conversations, I never really tried and I never felt comfortable ...