I Saw A Picture Of Myself From High School Today

del mich

And suddenly I’m hyper-aware of the four that sits in the back of my jeans instead of the zero. I’m obsessing over things like collarbones, shoulder blades, bicep size, wrist bones, backbones, bones I shouldn’t even care about, and the way I used to be able to “tip me over and pour me out” bend without so much as a ripple on my side. I’m increasingly aware of the way my stomach looks when I sit when I stand when I breathe when I exist. I’m increasing aware of how my space my ass actually takes up.

And I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really hate it.

I hate it for a multitude of reasons.

I hate it (obviously) because I don’t look like that anyone. My size 28-AA bra would laugh at the idea of fitting itself around my current ribs. I’m softer in areas where there once was bone. A pair of those size 0 Hollister low-rise skinnies would barely make it past my mid-thigh. I hate it because I’ve been told “smaller smaller, be smaller, smaller is better, do that, be that, that’s good,” for my entire life and somehow while growing up my personality wasn’t the only one who decided that maybe bigger would be better.

And I hate it because…

Because I’m not supposed to feel this way! I’m supposed to look at my stretch marks and the number on the scale celebrate it! I’m supposed to love what I see in the mirror and march all over body-shamers and love myself even though society is telling me constantly that I’d be happier minus 10 pounds!

And I hate it because….

I don’t feel that way. Not tonight, anyway. Not in the moment when I saw that high school picture of me. That high school me in a size zero dress from Macy’s, slow dancing with a boy while her shoulder blades were prominently on display. All approximately 4 inches in diameter that her arms had to be wrapped around a boy who would later whisper how he loved how tiny she was in her ear.

And instead of feeling nostalgic? All I feel is…

Well. Way too much. In every sense of the phrase. TC mark

I asked women to be honest about their Instagram photos

“The essays in this book are short and sweet, and incredible. Love love loved this.” — Alex

“I’m so in love with this book! It’s so moving and some of the stories bring me to tears not because it’s sad, but because it’s relatable and shows that we’re not alone.” — Kendra

This is the reality of Instagram...

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