As a child I never heard one woman say to me, “I love my body.” Not my mother, my elder sister, my best friend. Not one woman has ever said, “I am so proud of my body.” So I make sure to say it to Mia, because a positive physical outlook has to start at an early age.
One morning, I was awakened by a knock at the door. I rolled out of bed, threw a blanket over my shoulder because it was cold, and made my way to the front of the house. I opened the door and a very nice lady of some sort of christian denomination handed me a pamphlet and launched in to a well-rehearsed spiel about accepting jesus in to my life when she stopped mid sentence and gave me a peculiar look. I used this pause in her speech to politely decline her offer and wish her a pleasant morning. It wasn’t until I looked at what she handed me that I understood why I stopped her in her tracks and then proceeded to laugh for the next half hour by myself.
- “ Since my best friend was killed, I’ve lost my center. Ope was always my pull back to true north. Now my doubt and sense of fraudulence bark so loudly in my head that most of the time I can’t hear anything else.”