Insecurities are horrible things, aren’t they? Giggling, pointing, snide, gossipy, cruel things. They’re the mean girl in your head, sniggering that you’re weird or unwanted or unattractive. They weave themselves into your thoughts, slowly thickening like a room filling with smoke. They start small and bloom on your brain, an ugly rash speckling every brunch or date or dinner with this feeling that you’re not quite right.
How do you feel about your body? Everything dandy? Tickety boo? Do you wake up in the morning, run to the mirror and think phwoar, that is one hot piece of ass? No? Thought not.