When I was about ten, my mom handed me a book from American Girl called “The Care and Keeping of You 2” and told me to talk to her if I had any questions. I proceeded to read through 96 pages of information for girls who are about to go through puberty. When I finished it, my mom asked again if I had any questions. I apparently had no trouble accepting that I would soon be shopping for bras or bleeding out of my vagina, and I had only one: “Mom, how do I know if I have an eating disorder?”
Update: Turns out “all the free time ever” has not allowed me to keep my apartment clean or binge watch Netflix, but I have spent lots of time cooking some pretty bangin’ meals.
Anyway, that’s not what I’m here to talk about. I’m here to talk about perceptions.
This is a topic that I’ve covered a lot, because body image is something I’ve struggled with for many years. The first time I went on a diet I was in seventh grade (and nowhere near overweight), and I’ve fought a near constant battle over my self-image ever since, as I believe most people do nowadays.
But lately, I have to be honest, I’ve been checking myself out in the mirror everyday. Sometimes several times a day. Definitely when I’m changing so I can admire my new muscles; I’m pretty sure this adds at least a couple minutes to my getting ready time in the morning. And I’m not going to be ashamed of it.
Why? Because I look damn good.