A puff of hot breath or the aftermath of a steamy shower creates a barrier between my reflection and I. With my hand I swipe through the fog until a pair of eyes oppose mine, identical. I ignore the smear and tilt my head. Unlike most, I don't see translucent strings rising into the hands of a conformist puppeteer. I do see lips with rebellious, defying opinions hanging on the rim, however. It has its share of scars and peeling due to many years of anxious biting, but I take pride in having a big mouth as opposed to one that is small or meek. I raise my hand to my neck, gently tapping a string of freckles... I smile, remembering how someone special once pointed out that it looked like a necklace of brown dots. My hand falls limp to my side, outling my inherited wide hips. I click my tongue in a Tinkerbell-inspired pout, but in truth I no longer feel disdain for the similarities I share with my mother. I take pride in what I have, but that doesn't mean I can't pursue weight loss. The reason? Certainly not peer pressure, much less am I hopping on the bandwagon to embrace the ideal image of a woman's body. No, keep your calculated diets and empty bellies. I'll live up to an ambition at my own pace.
The "test" is simple. Look at yourself in a mirror and make a description of what you see ranging anywhere from personality flaws to raw limbs. It's healthy to like yourself as you are, but no one's perfect. Here I am, admitting that I'm content with myself but striving for a little more.
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