I used to hate myself. Hate my body, especially.
Hate's a strong word, but even still, it doesn't feel big enough to describe the loathing that went on inside me.
I hated my knees, my ankles, the size of my ribcage, my breasts, my arms, my skin color, the shape of my hands, the gap between my toes, the width of my shoulders, my thighs, my nose, my eyebrows, my hair, my butt, the length of my torso, and my belly.
Which is basically all of me.
And not at all all of me.Read More