The moment I first started hating my body is still a splinter in my memory. I was 15-years-old. My mother mentioned that I had put on weight, patting her own stomach to signal where. She explained that she meant to help—that she wanted the best for me. Humiliated and...
My home’s property abuts that of a Baptist church, the construction of which apparently caused some resentment on the part of the previous owners of our house—who I suppose felt it would obstruct their pristine backyard view. But the church has never bothered me. In...
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