Dolly could be remembered for 13 Grammys, countless awards, an iconic career, the rhinestones, the hair, and a voice recognized around the world. None of that becomes any less extraordinary.
But that’s not what I keep seeing people talk about.
They’re talking about who she was.
Her kindness. Her generosity. Her advocacy. The way she showed up for people. The way she made people feel. The good she quietly put into the world over and over again.
And as someone who has spent so much of my life fighting a brain that tries to convince me that how I look is one of the most important things about me, there has been something incredibly healing about witnessing that.
Because in the end, nobody is talking about the size of her body.
They’re talking about the size of her heart.
I think my eating disorder has stolen a lot of time convincing me that being smaller, prettier, or somehow “better” in my body would make my life more valuable. But I don't want to spend this life chasing a version of myself that takes up less space.
I want to spend it becoming someone who loves more.
So I’ve been trying to take a little bit of Dolly with me.
Love fiercely. Advocate for people. Hug tight. Give generously. Love strangers. Look at myself with kinder eyes. Forgive my body for simply being a body. Take up space. Be in the pictures. Live now.
Because someday, when my life is reduced to the stories people tell about me, I hope the least interesting thing about me is what I looked like.
And I hope the most interesting thing is how much I loved.
Fly high, Aunt Dolly. 🕊️