Every time I look in the mirror, this is what I think:
I have weird eyebrows. They’re thick and never, like, fit the right way.
My hair can never decide if it’s gonna be straight or curly or in between or none of the above (none of the above meaning it literally looks like a gust of wind just blew by and turned my hair into one big tangle).
I’m too short.
My calves make it so that short boots really don’t look good on me (I wear them anyways because yolo).
No matter how many times I do abs, I will always have the stomach chub that makes it look like I perpetually have a food baby. Now that I think about it, maybe I do perpetually have a food baby…
I have this random spot on one of my teeth that won’t ever go away.
My birth mark is on my stomach so I mean that’s weird.
My eyelashes are so long that wearing glasses is like constantly ramming into a window.
I have the world’s smallest hands. Ask, like, anyone.
I’m super awkward, especially when I first meet someone.
I never know what to do when I’m hugging someone. Like you have no idea how much respect I have for people that are good huggers.
I don’t have nails because I bite them.
My big toe is disproportional.
I have a double chin, especially when I smile, which is a lot.
One day I was thinking about how hypocritical all of this thinking is. I keep telling people to be optimistic, to look at the positives, and then I stand in front of a mirror every chance I get and tear myself apart.
Why don’t I ever think positively when it comes to my own body?
My big toe is disproportional because I’m a runner and running ruins your feet. Tell me you’re a runner and that you have beautiful feet. It’s not a thing. Oh, yeah, and about the calves? From running, thank you very much.
At least biting my nails is my habit and not, like, eating couches (From the TV show My Strange Addiction; no offense to anyone that eats couches but you may want to get that figured out).
I’m super awkward, but at least that makes me memorable! Apparently people pay hundreds of dollars to have permanently longer lashes. Mine are free! (But don’t spend the money. It really is a painnnnn). My hands may be small, but they’re easier to hold that way! (Calling all potential boyfriends. Geeze, don’t all volunteer at once…).
That random spot on my tooth is from when my dad dropped me as a child. So blame him (My dad is actually amazing and totally my role model; he just slipped on tile or something).
As far as the unfortunate stomach, at least that makes my hugs cozier. Can someone teach me how to hug, by the way?
My eyebrows and hair may be annoying, but I’m thankful for hair. I can’t image how much cancer patients must wish they could have any hair at all, so I really have no right to complain.
Oh, and how dare I say I’m too short. I’m eight inches taller than my own mom.
What do you think about when you look in the mirror?
All of your blemishes have a story. And those that matter want to hear all of those stories.
Stop analyzing yourself and start thinking about the positives, like this one: You’re beautiful, blemishes and all.