I’m damaged.
Broken. Messed up. Fat.
I’m weathered.
Not good enough. Never will be.
So many cracks. So much to fix.
So much to wish away.
I’m imperfect.
A bad example for the daughter I hope grows up to be nothing like me.
I don’t want her to have to pretend confidence, self-love, and pride in herself and her actions.
I want her to not understand my struggles. So I pretend.
Every morning. Every moment my brain slows down enough to think and not do.
If I pretend, she might not notice. She might believe.
So I fill myself with gold.
And I hope she believes that I believe I am beautiful.
Pauline Campos contributes to Funny Not Slutty, Owning Pink, and 30 Second Mom. She blogs three times a week at Aspiring Mama (or when she remember to take her Adderall) and is the founder of Girl Body Pride.
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