Standing there, I stared at her. The roundness in her cheeks. The fullness of her hips. The belly. Ugh, the belly. I saw her, and she was me. Staring at my husband, I said words about my body I would never say to a friend. That morning, I changed clothes ten times. Angrily, pants after pants were thrown to the floor as if to punish them for fitting incorrectly. Everything felt wrong. At that moment of not being able to fit any of my clothes, I realized the same insecurities plaguing me as a young girl who[...]
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