My legs are so big and my hips are so wide. They keep on telling me that my hips are my assets but they keep on making fun of me because of them as well… Sigh.
Why do I hate my body?
I don’t get it. I don’t understand why I hate my reflection. I don’t understand how I can be so many things, so many brilliant things, but that sometimes it feels like the only thing that matters about me is how I look in a fucking crop top. I don’t get it.
I guess, intellectually, I understand it. Media. Beauty standards. Magazines. Advertising. Greed. Hollywood. Photoshop. It all makes sense in my head. I see it. I get it. I understand how that kind of shit can just sneak its way into my brain and start camping out in there, dictating my thoughts and behavior like it owns the place. I see that.
Like, intellectually and logically and rationally, I understand how I can get to the place of viewing my body in a very negative light, considering the…
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