As a teenager, I would watch others starve themselves. I, on the other hand, was wishing I could be more voluptuous. But, alas, nothing worked: drinking milk, chest exercises, prayers, nothing. I was an odd-looking girl; I didn’t fit the American standard of beauty. I hated my appearance, and I hated me. Within my community, thin wasn’t always in, so few African-American males were interested in my narrow behind and flat chest. It wasn’t until I turned 19 that I began the long haul of self-acceptance. I became more aware that the media runs neck and neck with religion as the ‘opiate of the masses.’ I observed that males who would tease a woman for being too thin or too full-figured were probably just as jaded by their own inability to date the ‘ideal woman.’ In trying to assuage their own feelings of inadequacy, they tried to highlight [shortcomings] in others. Now, I’m happy with my shape — or lack thereof. I no longer hide underneath baggy clothing or think of getting breast implants, because, at long last, I accept myself.”
Whaaa? That doesn’t help much. O.< In fact, I don’t really know that anyone could get any help from that. Although I suppose you aren’t really meant to … completely … *shrugs* Ah well.