The thing is, I’ve never hated my body. But, when I think of the story of my body, I often think about how large swaths of it were not written by me. I think about how I used neutrality as a mode of survival and protection. How my two options were to either take note of every fatphobic thing I see and hear, or feel a deluge of shame for simply living in my fat body. Instead, I chose the middle, where everything was neither here nor there…