self-love

A bipolar, body-positive bread enthusiast with a fucked-up pretty much healed ankle and a history of disordered eating chroni

Some days I feel like a Botticelli, some days I feel like a sexy, dumpy baby. Even when I am naked, my frame of reference is limited. I have not seen too many positive, mainstream depictions of bodies like mine.

We are all flawed. So lean into yourself — glory in your strengths, accept your weaknesses, realize that mistakes you’ve made are not dead-ends. Rather, they’ve led you to the beautiful person you are becoming.

Perhaps the reason I’m so self-conscious about people seeing my ankles is that I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that the scars were my own fault. My father has severe addiction issues, along with a temper that would make Cruella de Vil cower. Rationally, I know he was probably half asleep and high as a kite when he made me that bowl of soup. Still, a part of me has always felt that I must have done something to deserve what happened.

It did not solve all of my problems. It did not make the reality of this deep hurt go away. But it did make me feel more like myself, which I'd begun to fear I would never feel again.

Sitting now on the cusp of my 35th birthday, I find myself taking stock of my life thus far, shoving my youth under a microscope while I ask myself this one thing: Am I careening full-tilt toward my final days on this earth, or am I only just getting started here?

With all of the anxiety and potential for a spiral of bad things that could happen, learning how to stay on top of your responsibilities can be the key to preventing the downward spiral. Time management can be an essential part of mental health and maintaining professionalism in a competitive environment full of triggers for us tenderhearts.

Advocate for your needs. Just do whatever it takes to change up your scenery. It’s time to go the f*ck outside.