Simone

I don’t remember exactly when I began to like my hair. It was probably once I learned the value of shampoo. Liking your hair is a nice feeling.

I hate my body most days, but on the days I don’t, it’s great. I feel healthy and strong and sexy and nimble. Better days are when I sleep for more than six hours and get to see the effects a full night’s sleep has on the flatness my stomach. The best days are when the poke of my tummy doesn’t bother me at all.

My skin is clearing. Mainly because I take antibiotics and smear antibacterial foam all over it twice a day. There’s a lot of “anti” involved. Although I’d like to credit myself too—for eating less pizza (or at least being conscious of how often I do) and poking and prodding and covering less. It’s weird that having the skin I had at age 10 makes me look older than the skin I had at 16.

I stopped wearing makeup because I was too lazy to put it on every morning. The point at which convenience superseded comfort also marked the beginning of self-acceptance.

I want to be one of those glowy, shiny, dewy Glossier girls with pouty lips and rosy cheeks and wispy, carefree flyaways. I’m always going to be too sticky or dry or red, but it’s nice not to hate that so much.

I really, kind of, like myself. ♦