TWO THOUSAND AND TWENTY THREE, AS I LIVE AND BREATHE.
First things first: I did a lil’ somethin’ somethin’. For Mental Hellth, I wrote about the mental gymnastics I had to do to overcome the strong Black woman trope when it comes to the way I think about work, even though I absolutely the fuck hate writing/saying/thinking the words “strong Black woman.” It’s vulnerable and shit! Pls enjoy.
Now that that’s out of the way, we can get to the mentally ill stuff. My bread. 🍞 My butter. 🧈
Do you ever sit and have a realization that something you thought was a normal thing is not actually a normal thing? For me, it’s this recent idea that I don’t actually have a good concept of the way I look—my face, yes, but more so my body as a whole.
Soooo, it appears I have either a little bit or a lotta bit of body dysmorphia. Add it to the list, baby.
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