Some mornings I look in the mirror and the first thing that comes to mind is: oh my God, I don’t even have kids yet.
What follows is always different: sometimes it’s directed toward my cellulite, other times at my love handles, occasionally at the stress pimple on my cheek. It’s always some sentiment of self-hate: maybe I could be skinnier, tanner, a little less me and a little more cool girl.
You know what’s shitty? My experiences in front of the mirror aren’t special or unique.