Maybe it’s because my chief adversary has always been my body, but I’ve never had a problem with my face. I’ve actually always liked my face. For most of my life, my operating assumption has been that my face is quirky but reliably cute, occasionally even pretty. The defining feature is my chin, which ranges from gently triangular to downright pointy, depending on where I am in the five-pound window of weight I tend to slide around in. From as early as I can remember, I was told I had a heart-shaped face and that this was a good thing. I was also told by my mother that while my body would always be a problem (given that her body was a problem, it would only follow that mine would be too, since in her mind we were the same person), my face was pretty and I was lucky not to have to worry about it.
© 2023 Meghan Daum
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