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I’m honored that Mari is featuring me on her blog today. Here’s an excerpt of the post:

When I was young, I imagined sitting at a desk in a small, dark room frantically typing away at my next bestseller. I would be brilliant, adored, infinitely creative and, of course, beautiful. I didn’t understand then that beauty was subjective, and that it would take a lifetime for me to realize how to love myself.


Nothing turned out the way I originally imagined. My office is light filled and tranquil. African masks grace a warm, vanilla wall. A green patina vase holds silk flowers the color of fall. I have yet to write a bestseller. While there are those who adore me and creativity still abounds, youthful beauty has faded like the photos in the hall.

I started writing at nine. At ten, my parents told me I was fat, and my world began to shift.

By twelve, I had breasts but my mother didn’t believe in bras. Running down the soccer field, they bounced and jiggled of their own free will. Boys snickered. Girls whispered. I hated the attention.

At sixteen, I was a college freshman. I didn’t belong. With braces on my teeth and a body hidden beneath flannel shirts and loose Levis, I tried to fit in. I borrowed clothes, put on excessive makeup, and went to parties with the rest of the kids.

I fell in love. I learned about sex….  To read more, click here, and let me know how the world has shaped your body image.