A/N: I wrote story a while back called Curves, in which various characters react to Garcia's apparent weight loss. Since publishing that story, I've worked with a nutritionist on my own body image issues and grown more uncomfortable with the pro-weight loss messages in Curves. Since the story seems to be important to some people, I've decided to leave it up for now. Instead of taking it down, I've written this new piece exploring similar themes from a perspective that I feel more accurately depicts what I believe to be the reality of dieting and weight loss. I hope you enjoy. -K

God, she had worked so hard.

She had ended long days at the office with long nights at the gym when all she wanted was to be curled up in bed sleeping away the horrors of the day.

She had choked down lifeless salads when she was craving macaroni and she'd gone to bed hungry more times than she cared to count.

She's even eaten cucumbers. She hated cucumbers.

She had spent copious amounts of time and money trying to change herself, trying to force her body to be different from how it was. And the kicker? She had told herself that it was what she wanted, convinced herself that it was all for her.

I'll be healthier, she'd said, ignoring her body's protests as she had nothing but coffee for breakfast again.

I'll be happier, she'd said, tears of exhaustion and frustration streaming down her face on the treadmill as she ran towards nothing.

I'll be prettier, she'd said, layering on foundation to cover up the dark circles under her eyes from another hungry, overworked, sleepless night.

But it hasn't been for her.

It wasn't for her that she'd forced herself into breath-constricting shapewear every morning before work, trying to make her body look a little more like her coworkers'.

It wasn't for her that she'd practiced sucking her stomach in, training her body never to relax, trying to mask her perceived flaws at the expense of her own comfort.

It wasn't for her that she'd spent date after date ignoring the bread basket and picking at a half-eaten plate of unseasoned vegetables, trying to convince the world that she wasn't hungry.

It wasn't for her that she'd kept that ugly old tee shirt on when Kevin spent the night, trying to hide herself from the one who should have known her the best.

And she knew, now. She'd gone to therapy and she'd seen the nutritionist and she'd learned and now she knew.

She knew that her body wasn't something to be ashamed of, and that eating a cookie wasn't a mortal sin.

She knew that working out should make her happy and give her energy, not exhaust her and make her feel worthless.

She knew that a partner who criticized her body or her choices about it wasn't a partner worth keeping around.

But.

But none of that meant that her mind didn't still scream at her sometimes.

When Derek told her he was engaged, and she felt her heart breaking because maybe if she had only been his type, things would've been different.

At the bridal shop with the rest of Savannah's bridesmaids, when the samples were a size 6 so she just watched the other girls try on pretty dresses.

The last time she'd worn a bullet-proof vest, when she had to adjust the straps to the loosest they would go to make it fit right.

And now, staring into her closet and pulling out a dress she hasn't worn in years, a dress she'd happily shoved to the back of the rack when it was practically falling off her thinner body.

Her weak, hungry, tired body, she reminds herself.

She blinks her eyes tightly as she unzips the dress, trying to remember that this used to be one of her favorites, that it's nice to have another chance to wear it, that its size tag doesn't measure health or worth or beauty.

"Want some help with the zipper?" He asks smoothly, buttoning the last button on his shirt as he practically glides across the room.

"Yes, please," She softly, and he obliges.

He's quiet as he zips up the back of her dress. More notably, so is she. Her gently turns her around by her shoulders, places a soft kiss on her cheek and says, "How are you feeling?"

She's actively avoiding eye contact as she swallows hard and whispers, "Fat."

"Fat isn't a feeling, my love," he reminds her, one hand tilting her head back ever so slightly until they're making eye contact while the other strokes her hair.

She sighs. He's right, and she knows he's right, but it's so much harder, even, to talk about real emotions.

"Inadequate," she finally says. "Undesirable. Like a failure."

"I'm sorry you're feeling that way today," he says earnestly, her hands in his and leaning back onto the edge of the bed. "Would it help if I told you you're wrong?"

"Maybe a little," she says honestly.

"You're wrong." His answer is immediate, and his eyes are as fierce as his voice. "You are amazing, woman. You are more than good enough. You are smart and talented and beautiful and hilarious and I love you and if you think I don't desire you, I need to seriously up my game." She giggles a little at that, and he smiles.

He pauses a moment, then asks, "At what do you feel like you failed?"

He's really getting at the heart of the thing now, and her chest aches as he forces her to voice one of her darkest feelings.

"At. . . at making my body good enough. At being thin." She stammers, looking away. She tries in vain to pull her hands from his, but he holds tight, as she knew he would.

"Hey, look at me," he says gently, and waits until she does. "Your body has always been good enough. Always. You are not thin, Penelope. If you were, I'd be worried, because that's not how your body was made." A few tears trickle down her face despite her every effort to the contrary, and he continues. "You didn't fail, Penelope; you gave up. You gave up starving yourself and being miserable and putting your perceptions about the way you're 'supposed' to look ahead of taking care of yourself. And it was hard. And you did it anyway. And I am so, so proud of you."

"It just doesn't feel worth it sometimes," she confesses, and he pulls her into a hug and rubs gentle circles around her back.

"I know," he says softly, "But you are so strong. You're stronger than these feelings." He pauses, takes a step back, and looks into her eyes again. "And you're healthy, thank God, and you are absolutely drop dead gorgeous. And you are going to be okay."

She smiles as she wipes a few tears from under her glasses. "Thank you, Luke," she says softly. "I love you."

And she begins to love herself too.