I feel like I should thank you for being a jackass, because that helped me to change the way I feel about myself. You see, I used all of your poisonous words as my fuel. I used all of the hell you put me through as my shield. I used every single flaw you found as my crown.

You made fun of my body. You made fun of my stretch marks, saying only old ladies have them. You made fun of my hair and clothes. And thank you for that, because now I wear them with pride. Now I know they tell the story of who I am, they tell the story of this invincible, amazing woman that I am now. I’m not ashamed of my stretch marks, of the cellulite I have or maybe some of that belly fat I have. Because I’m living my life to the fullest and I’m finally in love with myself and no one’s words are strong enough to change that.

You made fun of my intellect. I loved you so much, I wanted to be perfect for you that I let you get away with that. But you know what? I’m a hell of a smartass. I’m not ashamed to ask about something I don’t know. I’m not ashamed if I don’t know everything, because I want to learn more. And you know what else? I’m actually doing great in life with this little brain of mine, I have an amazing job, an amazing audience and co-workers. I’m done letting other people make me doubt my intellect, because now I know better.

You made fun of my work. Always saying how writing isn’t a job for adults, saying how I’ll be flipping burgers in no time. And I don’t know why I ever let you make me doubt myself. Why I ever let you make me question my passion, my biggest love in life. When I stopped giving a damn about your words, I started giving a damn about my thoughts.

You made fun of my choices. But guess what? You were one of them. You made fun of every book I decided to read, saying how Harry Potter is for children, how John Green is boring or how Tolstoy is overrated. You were never satisfied, nothing was good enough for you. Every movie I chose, every song I ever decided to play you, you never approved of. But I’m done looking for approval from other people. Because I finally understand that I’m not living for you or for anyone else. The only person I should be living for is me.

So, thank you for letting me know that I’m not good enough for you, because it made me realize that I’m perfect for myself. I’m not flawless and I’m sure as hell not some kind of a goddess. But I love myself like I’m both flawless and a goddess. I learned to love every flaw of mine, I learned to love every silly thing I do, because all of them are parts of me. All of that makes me different from other women.

I’m not perfect, I don’t wear little black dresses to parties, I don’t wear stilettos or my hair in a bun. I don’t eat healthily and I don’t read grown-up books, or even watch grown-up movies. I wear jeans and T-shirts to fancy parties and consider it a success if I comb my hair. I watch cartoons and still dream about meeting Marvel Heroes. I wear sneakers and stumble in high heels. But what matters to me, more than anything else, is that I’m happy the way I am. I’m not perfect by standards of the world, but I’m perfect for myself.