I dropped the soap.

I’m in my most vulnerable state, I’m naked, feeling the water run down my head, splashing all over me. I pretend I’m in a film, I feel hot, sexy and cute as I lather the shampoo in my hair.

I like the feeling of the soap bar running along my skin, making me smooth and blurring my imperfections.

Shit. I dropped the soap. It slides down the bathtub, begging to escape my body, and as I bend down, I’m on show to everyone.

The soap didn’t hide anything, it made me venerable to the world, revealing my imperfections. As I bend down to pick up the soap, my legs fold, revealing my stretch marks, my belly folds and my back bends, and for any watchers, it’s an ugly sight.

I revealed myself to the wrong people, I was vulnerable and too trusting and god I want to hide myself and cover my flaws until they don’t know anything about me at all. I trusted too much, I showed too much and I’m not a mystery to anyone anymore, yet they still don’t get me at all.

I curl up into a ball, I cover my scars, my hairy legs and let my hair fall over me like a curtain, hiding me away from the world. The one thing that was meant to make me clean, to feel like me again, sabotaged me.

But then as I step out of the water, I’m no longer blinded, I can open my eyes. Someone will love me the way I am, they’ll trace over my stretch marks, congratulating me for how tall I’ve grown. They’ll run their fingers over the scars on my arms and remind me how brave I was, how I was the one who got myself out of that hole. They’ll run their hands across my belly, reminding me of how well fed I am, how lucky I am to have food in my system.

They’ll love me and they’ll hold me and tell me I’m going to be okay, that I am okay. That I’m self sufficient and I shouldn’t rely on them as my source of happiness. I’ll be able to bend down and pick up the soap without feeling ashamed, and I’ll be able to trust again and feel secure that they love me no matter who I am.

I’m not scared of dropping the soap anymore.