For years, I loathed the person I saw in the mirror. Every imperfection, every roll, every spot of cellulite were flaws that I thought made me less. I hated my body.
In middle school, I flipped through fashion magazines, tore out workout articles, and starved myself because I thought if I obsessed long enough, the dream body I had in my head would become reality.
In high school, I struggled with anxiety over my acne and braces, believing that my outward appearance was the reason I couldn’t get a boyfriend. I wore countless masks, hoping that people would like the mask of the day instead of making fun of the body that I was in.
[For more on this story by Kayla Roste, go to https://medium.com/@lemonkj09/...-myself-9b388e2500f9]
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