I genuinely do love who I am inside and out, and I’ve learned to have confidence in my own skin — but not without a harsh inventory of my physical presence compared to the one I’ve idealized in my mind. I can’t help but feel that my looks are somehow a direct representation of how well I’m doing in life. When I gaze in the mirror, I either congratulate myself for a week well spent at the gym or I feel regret for that second quesadilla.

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