I was, up until about 8 months ago, obese. I loved my body. I didn't go round shouting "I love my body" because I'm not a social media influencer and normal people don't really do that.
But I did love it, it enabled me to go out and do the things I loved, it felt good when DP touched it, I wasn't upset by how it looked, in fact I thought I was fairly attractive, and so did DP (I was fat when I met her, so it can't have been that much of a turn off.)
But just because I didn't hate my body, didn't mean I didn't know it was unhealthy for me to be that weight. Had there been a magic wand to instantly make me a healthy weight, I'd have weighed it in an instant, because while I loved my body, I also love not being dead. Apparently not enough to do anything about it though
Just before Christmas, I got diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. Not prediabetes, proper full blown you are making permanent unreversible changes to yourself diabetes. So I promptly made massive lifestyle changes, stopped eating crap, and lost 50lb. I'm now a healthy weight, my blood sugar is in the normal range, and if I can keep it that way for the next year then I'll officially be in remission.
I still love my body, no more or less than I did before. Aside from the little black spot in my vision that's going to be there for the rest of my life, that bits a little fucker.
But I don't look back at photos of myself from last year and hate my body from back then. I hate my laziness a little bit, my willingness to eat crap for years and years with little thought to the consequences. I hate my mind a little bit, but my body, I've always loved it.