“That thing about you, the thing that you hate the most, that you call a flaw, that’s what draws me to you, what I love most about you, what I wouldn’t trade for the world.”
Oh, the joy that would be mine if I heard these words from my significant other. Wait a minute. I do hear them. He tells me how much he loves my thighs – I hate them. I think they’re way too thick and could do with a lot less cellulite. He thinks the little mole on my face, right above my upper lip is really sexy – I think it just makes applying make-up much more difficult because I have to work around it. He likes to put his head on my belly when we lie in bed just chilling, says it’s the perfect cradle for his head – I secretly wish I could wear an invisible waist-trainer to cinch that damn waist all the way in, especially when I’m naked.

I think my arms are too fat and my butt isn’t tight enough. I’d love for my boobs to be perkier and for my lips to have a bit more definition. And for my hair to be longer. And for my skin to be flawlessly radiant. And for that annoying little skin tag on my neck to just disappear. And the list goes on and on. I could find a million things that are wrong with me, with my body, with my person. I could probably write a book on the subject. Sadly.

I’d like to think that I’m not alone, that there are millions and millions of people out there who worry about the several little (or not so little) imperfections they think they have. People who want better anatomies, deeper voices, broader shoulders, wider hips, who want to be taller, or not so tall, who want to be skinnier or not so skinny. I’m sure there are....

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