Before I start anything, let me say this: I love my body. I love its scars and scrapes and bruises, its imperfections and inflexibility and periodic infirmity. I love the ache in my shoulders after I lift, the burn in my quads after I row. I love the calluses on my hands and the freckles on my nose. Even when I don’t like what I see, I still appreciate and love what I have. Sometimes though, my mind tries to fight me on this. I look in the mirror and I can’t decide who’s looking back. Girl? Boy? Genderally ambiguous middle ground? All of the above? Some days, it’s hard to tell.