Loving ourselves sometimes seems a bit impractical. We spend all of our time and energy living a selfless lifestyle, that we tend to fail to consider our well-being.
As they say, love is all sorts of complicated. A lot of people would tell you, self-love is the best kind.
Breaking away from a, what’s the medical term they use? Sociopath.
It’s never too late to look into that mirror again and see someone capable of being loved wholeheartedly and truthfully.
When you find the virtuous balance between “not caring what people think” and “caring too much what everyone thinks.”
A good role model was simple: this chaste, heteronormative, God-fearing girl. That was it.
The world becomes a little lighter. You see the universe the way you see yourself. Would you rather be the magnifying glass looking down at the concrete or the telescope looking up to the ~stars~?
Love is such a complex thing.
I want to start off by stating outright that some of what’s written below may be a trigger for those who struggle with a self-injury addiction.
Plunging necklines + no bras = small boobies paradise.