I don't want to write about my body anymore.

Is everyone else as exhausted as I am?

I don’t want to write about my body anymore. I don’t want to think about it at all, actually. I want my body to be such a distant, insignificant detail of who I am and what I bring to the world that I wouldn’t even think of adding an “inspiring” caption to a photo of me in a bathing suit. I wouldn’t for one second think that the thing that makes it worthy of existing in the world is explaining that fact to everyone, and watching how the explanation might help everyone else feel better, too. I don’t want to be inspiring at all, really. I don’t want to know that if I talk about stretch marks or cellulite or gaining weight or clothes not fitting that it will be met with a wave of likes, of comments and praise. I don’t want to know that, but I do.

A friend of mine used to joke that the easiest way to boost engagement as an influencer existing in a plus size body is to simply post a bathing suit photo. Caption it, “Life’s too short not to wear the bathing suit!” or “Here to remind you that…