I’ve never met anyone who truly loves everything about themselves. Ever. It’s weird.
I used to despise myself. Then I tolerated myself, then I realised actually, my body is the only one I’ll ever own, and if my brain wasn’t in my head, it’d be pretty weird.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love myself like that, I’m not a dick. There’s some things I didn’t like; my muffin top, my face, my hair, whatever. But, actually, my ‘muffin top’ is called my intestines and surrounding muscle. It’s a small supply of fat that my body has to stop me dying randomly in the winter.
My face fits my skull, there’s no point in getting angry at my skull, it holds my brain, which I need for thinking at stuff, so actually my skull is pretty cool by me. So my hair is a demon, I trim it and two days later, it’s a blondey-reddy-purpley-browny haystack, defying both gravity and reason. But it gives me something to play with when I’m flirting/hiding from confrontation/breaking up with someone.
I got angry at my legs, I don’t know why, probably because they don’t look photo-shopped. But then I twigged, my stems get me places, they give me somewhere to put my shoe collection. They’re half my height, I’d look weird without them. My pins hold a few of my tattoos, that I chose and helped design. My legs are cool.
My arse is arse shaped, it gives me somewhere to sit. And it looks kinda good in my aerial dance shorts.
So fuck it. I like myself, so sue me. Your body is yours, it’s the only one you’ll ever have. It’s the only thing that no one can legally take from you. Enjoy it. It’s actually pretty cool when you really look at it.
Don’t read beauty magazines, they lie. Just watch this link. (I’m sorry if there’s ads!)