From the minute I became aware of all the “this” that I've been carrying around, I've viewed it as a separate thing from who I am. So, in my quest to take my body back, here's what I'm saying: I don't just have a body, I am my body. I am one with my inner thighs, which infallibly rub anytime the humidity is over 10%. I'm one with my boobs, which maybe are a little less perky than I'd like them to be at age 26. I'm one with my feet, which have put me in and out of surgery for the last five years. But I'm also one with my legs, which have carried me across continents and subway grates. I'm one with my voice which has brought me fulfilling work and allowed me to speak my mind. I'm one with my hands, I'm one with my brain, I'm one with my pores: I'm me. I'll shout it from the rooftops: I own me. And you know what that means? I'm the only one who gets to do that.