When I was in eighth grade, I was going through what, up until that point of my life, the worst depression I’d experienced. With this, came this crushing self-loathing that made it almost impossible for me to look at myself, let alone find beauty in myself.
One day, I said, “Okay. Just find one thing about your body that you can like.”
So I looked at myself and decided that I could appreciate my hands. They were elegant at times, and people at the church I attended often complimented them, said they were strong piano hands. They were capable of writing pages and pages of story without tiring or cramping.
A year after, those hands would start the novel I finished this year.
I still really appreciate my hands, and I ultimately started to work out of that trough (and subsequently fell back into it a couple times). Last semester, however, was one of the worst in my life, and I found that, once again, I needed to try to focus on loving one part of myself at a time.
I started with my feet.
Because I have always been a runner, and even though my Achilles tendons are shit, my feet have always managed to hold me. When I played soccer my senior year of high school, I was a wing. And not that I was good at soccer (I was about as shitty as my tendons), but I could run up and down the soccer field for the entirety of the game. Even on the days when all I wanted to do was stay in bed, my feet were always there, waiting to steady me whenever I mustered the strength to swing my legs out of bed (yes, that old cliché).
I know that feet are typically the least-loved parts of us, but you have to create a solid foundation for self-love, and I suppose the feet are as good a place to start as any.