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motivation

I Love Me, I Love Me Not

I hate needy people in every sense of the term. I’m obsessed with my friends, and constantly feel the need to hug them and tell them how perfect they are, but that’s as far as my neediness goes. I deplore people that are desperate for validation, acceptance, romance, etc. I mean sure, I bitch and moan about being single on my blog and to my friends in the privacy of our conversations, but it’s all in good fun. I may be rolling my eyes at obnoxious couples in public but I’m not crying myself to sleep at night because I don’t have an MCM or someone to be big spoon.

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As annoyed as I am by people that need to have their appearance, accomplishments or even existence ratified by others, I’ve slowly but surely felt myself becoming one of them as confident as a person as I am (or used to be?).

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I firmly believe that your self esteem is your own job. The female ego relies heavily and primarily on appearance. I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. I wish that being smart, hardworking and mildly funny were enough to make me feel like the total package, but they just aren’t. As much pride as I take in my principles and personality, if I don’t feel beautiful, I don’t feel good about myself.

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I wouldn’t say I have a type, but if I found myself at a build-a-bae workshop, I’d create a lax player over 6 feet tall with a beautiful head of flow that loved America, Always Sunny, and 80s throwbacks. Before you make any assumptions, I don’t actually prefer white guys over any other guys, it’s just that the guys that I tend to have the most in common with in terms of my interests and lifestyle tend to be of the Caucasian persuasion.

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I go to a white school. My friends are white. Boston is pretty white. I’m like a cute little olive in a sea of Miracle Whip, and I don’t have a problem or think about it very much. Usually, I like the way I look. I like my big nose, my tiny eyes, my giant glasses and my kinky hair. I think I’m the bee’s knees, if not the whole bee tbh. But I never get the 200 likes that I feel like.

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Does that matter? Of course not. But at some parties, I feel like no one’s paying attention to me. I don’t look like my friends, and I feel like the ugly friend that people just keep around because she’s kind of entertaining and knows how to have a good time. I feel like the accessory that makes her friends look better in comparison.

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If you’re black (or anything other than white), or super tall, or a little chubby, or have short hair or fall anywhere outside of the box of cute petite blondes with perky little asses and the perfect spray tans, it can be easy to feel like shit when that’s all you’re surrounded by, and all that anyone wants. It’s even easier to start blaming everyone but yourself for the way you’re feeling.

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There are all types of beauty on this planet, and they should all be celebrated. But that begins with looking in the mirror and coming to a verdict about what you see on your own, and learning to appreciate the beauty of others without comparing yourself. That begins with declaring your own beauty, and not waiting for others to do it for you. You have to realize that a different beauty isn’t a lesser beauty, even if the people around you don’t quite catch on.

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At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how many guys are talking to you (more accurately, trying to sleep with you) at a gross, overcrowded party, or how many people like your selfies, or how many of your friends even think you’re pretty. If you let the way you think others perceive you define you in any aspect, you’re a fucking loser, and no amount of social media posts about society’s “unrealistic beauty standards” will change that.

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