The skin I’m in today is not the same as it was five years ago. Each drop of dead cells is like a reincarnation of self. I am more comfortable in my skin now than I ever was in the last ten years. I spent those years trying to change who I was instead of just being who I am. Amidst the noise of others’ expectations, my own were never met. And I felt as if I wore a costume, disguised as who I thought I was supposed to be–who I was expected to be. Only I loathed the skin I was in; I did not know who I was. As I exfoliate my former self, I feel the liberation that comes with being unconcerned with whether anyone else likes me, as long as I can recognize myself in the mirror and love what I see.


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