I grew up with a body that was criticized often. I was told that I had a “pretty face” and if I could just lose a little weight, I’d be beautiful.

People would mask it as being concerned about my health. But if it were my health you were concerned about, why didn’t you express concern when I was dipping lettuce into soy sauce and calling it lunch? No, I don’t think it was my health you worried about.

Over time, I developed this deep belief that my body was not worthy. I did what I could to hide this body of mine. Wore sweatshirts in June. Rarely bought jeans. A black wardrobe filled my closet.

While in my 20s, I watched friends enter relationships. More confident than I had ever been or ever imagined I could be.

I remember what it was like to meet people in my late 20s and my first thought – before I even walked into the restaurant or bar or coffee shop – was, “I hope they like me.” Not, “I hope I like them.”

I knew I’d meet somebody eventually. But I was also convinced that – no matter how much I loved my future husband – I would never let him SEE me. Truly see me. I was made to feel as though what I had to offer was not what people wanted.

Yet here I am.

He’s seen me.

In my yoga pants.

He’s seen me.

On the toilet.

He’s seen me.

With blood spilling out of me and onto the carpet of our bedroom.

He’s seen me.

Laying on an operating table – completely naked – as I brought life into this world.

He’s seen me.

In the bathroom with my squirt bottle and mesh undies post-baby.

He’s seen me.

And he loves me.

I never imagined I could experience love like this before. With my walls down, my heart and my body exposed. An authentic, genuine, I-am-me and you-are-you and we-are-forever kind of love.

I love you the most, my sweet husband. Even when I pass out without saying good night. Even when I kiss the baby and forget to kiss you. And even when you spend 5 hours in the bathroom.

You are everything in the world to me. Thank you for loving me exactly as I am. Happy anniversary. 5 years down; forever to go.