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Even though I’ve been a “writer” for the past three years, I always put that word into quotations. I assume that the reason I got the job and have been able to maintain it was luck. I tell myself — and others — that it was a fluke. The fact that I’ve generally been able to increase my prices and work less while remaining afloat? I ignore. When people ask me what it is that I do for a living, I avoid the subject or downplay it as much as possible.

I think it’s time for me to stop that.

For three years, I’ve been a freelance writer. I’ve paid my bills and my taxes. I’ve had steady work. I even had some business cards printed up; although, I haven’t had much of a chance to work them. I’ve improved my writing skills, and that shows on all my blogs. I’ve become more familiar with AP styles, I’ve juggled HTML and I’ve dealt with ever-changing rules, cranky clients and incredible editors.

I guess that I’ve more or less persevered, and I should take credit for that. I got a job. I’ve kept it. I’ve gotten better at it and expanded my horizons when need be. I’m not just playing pretend. This isn’t just a hobby, and maybe I can do even more with it than I already have. I don’t know what, but for the first time I finally think that the option exists. It’s liberating, really.

Perhaps the better title of this post would be “everyone loves me.” But I thought that sounded a bit too egotistical. It’s true though. I have no enemies. People don’t dislike me. They meet me, they learn about me and they love me.

I think this is because I make their lives better. I listen, I make them laugh, I’m a good friend, sister, daughter, whatever. And people tell me this all the time. It’s amazingly touching. It’s also reaffirming because I always suspect that I am beneficial to others, but that they take the time to tell me proves it.

I am a lot of things, and not all of them are good, but it more than balances out in the end. It makes my life worth living, truly. It makes me glad to wake up in the morning and look forward to tomorrow.

The thing about this is that I don’t really try. I mean, I do, but it’s not like it’s difficult. What could feel better than knowing you’re a positive factor to those that you love — and knowing that everyone you’ve ever loved pretty much agrees — than the knowledge that you’re just naturally good at it?

I don’t know. Maybe nothing better exists, just like my enemies don’t.

Once upon a time, I would avoid the mirror. I’d run past, especially if I were naked. I’d force my gaze to stray from the areas I didn’t like. There wasn’t much that I did like. And it wasn’t just the morning routine that was disturbed by my self loathing. It was detrimental to my relationships. My self-consciousness infiltrated every area of my life in a way that others probably didn’t understand and maybe you can’t also understand unless you’ve been there, too.

Lately, as I’ve watched the pounds slowly melt off, as I’ve put on pants that I couldn’t wear for years, as I’ve shopped for clothes that actually fit, as I’ve found styles that accent my curves, I’ve been less reluctant to face what the mirror has to show me. I started with small steps. I allowed forced myself to view a little at a time, then a little more. Now I can stand in front of the mirror in full. I suppose I have desensitized myself to the images that I had convinced myself were so vile before.

Now I see me in the mirror, every day, as I apply lotion. I see my skin, my hair. I see my shape, I see my scars, my marks, my blemishes. I don’t love it all but I don’t hate it, either, and that’s the accomplishment. I don’t flinch or run away. I am more or less at peace and, yes, sometimes even happy with what I see, with parts that I used to hate.

The difference plays out in my life. I walk taller, shoulders back with my chin up. I spend more time beautifying myself. I laugh more. I am less self conscious in public, which makes me less uptight in general. I am more open because I am not trying to hide myself for fear that someone may realize that I am not an attractive person or, rather, that I don’t find myself attractive.

All this confidence only pushes me to do more because I can see it, in those mirror images, that I am almost where I want to be.