Instagram. The highlight reel of seemingly perfect lives and, let’s be honest, heavily filtered bodies. Thighs. Instagram thighs. Smooth, toned, […]

Scars. Often seen as blemishes, imperfections, marks to be hidden or erased. For years, I viewed mine with a mix

Photo filters. The digital plastic surgery of the selfie age. They can smooth skin, slim faces, and create an illusion

High school reunions. The ultimate body image pressure cooker. Years have passed, bodies have changed, and the fear of comparison

Body shame often feels like a heavy cloak, weighing you down, dictating your wardrobe choices. For years, I dressed to

The scale. The tyrannical judge of self-worth. The digital dictator that dictated my mood, my food choices, and my entire

“You’re too skinny.” It’s often disguised as concern, but it stings just as much as comments about being “too big.”

Cellulite. The cottage cheese curse. The dimpled demon that women are told to wage war against. For years, I hid

Diet culture. The insidious beast that tells us we’re never quite good enough, always needing to shrink ourselves to fit

My nose. Let’s just say it’s…distinctive. “Strong featured,” my grandmother politely called it. “Big,” my inner critic brutally declared. For