Have you ever woken up one morning, stared at the popcorn on your ceiling, and wondered when you stopped loving yourself? I have… and it’s fucking terrifying.

From the boyfriend who told me I wasn’t good enough to marry by replacing me with a more “elite” carbon-copy, to the boss who told me my success was based on HIM and not my own kickass ability, to all the food I scarfed down because those two losers (and so much more) made me feel like the human equivalent of dog poo. ALL of these things led to my poor self esteem. And at the end of the day, “poor self esteem” is just another way of saying “I hate myself.”

I used to be fearless. Independent and strong, with no need for validation from anybody in this world but myself. No way would I have ever let another person define my worth or make me feel as though I came last. And I sure as hell would never have drowned myself in chocolate cake and cheesesteaks if they did.

I marched to my own beat, and if someone didn’t like it? Buh-bye. I didn’t have time for people who’d try to hold me back or didn’t love me for me, and I certainly didn’t entertain my own thoughts of negative body image. I was who I was and I loved it, flaws and all.

It’s scary to look back at my choices over the years and see how far I’ve strayed from everything that made me, well… me.

Listen. I’ve been told a hundred times that “we’re all guilty of letting bad relationships and unhealthy habits dictate how we feel at one point or another.” Yeah okay… but guess what? I have nobody to blame but myself for how I’m feeling NOW. Sure, I’m going to get upset about that terrible Bumble date where I listened to a guy literally mansplain how domestic violence was acceptable for NFL players. I’m going to sit down on the couch after a long and stressful work day and maybe eat an entire carton of Ben and Jerry’s. But those are moments. They are not forever. They do not define me, and I cannot let them. I and I alone have the power to change how I feel. I just have to grab that shit by the horns.

That’s how Roman Rebellion was created. I grabbed… and I didn’t let go.

My name is Alessandra, I’m 28 years old, and now and for the rest of my time here… I love myself first.