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Fixer Downer.

I had a conversation with my ace this morning. It started with me trying to figure out what tropical island I was going to spend money I don’t have on, then quickly spiraled into a pity party of 1. Instead of cake and confetti, this party had insecurities and self-loathing. I told her that I lurked the Instagram pages of the exes of any man I’ve kissed in the past year and wished I had their body, their hair, their lips, their confidence, their job, their anything and everything I didn’t have. Then, I told her how I started personal training today, so at least I could “fix” that part of me.

I took a double take at what I messaged her and silently screamed to myself,


Fix? I say it again, FIX? No honey, you do not need to be fixed. Silly girl. 

What you need to do is go to the gym. Because it hurts so good and you always feel great afterwards. Because you love the way your jeans look when there’s no grip room, and your profile in the mirror when you’re wearing a pencil skirt.

You need to write your life away. Because it makes you happy and feel like you have a purpose. Because you’ve said you were going to write a book for the past 8 years. Because you’re fucking good at it. Because your writing makes people feel things. 

You need to forgive yourself. For accepting less than you deserve. Forgive yourself for allowing someone else to define your worth. For making mistakes. For being weak. For not caring enough. For caring so much – for caring too much. 

You need to start checking off your summer to-do list … from 2014. Get your motorcycle license. Learn how to do the splits. Speak another language. Take boxing lessons. Learn how to salsa or hula. LEARN HOW TO FUCKING SWIM.

You need to STOP. Just stop. Stop procrastinating. Stop complaining. Stop overthinking. Stop worrying. Stop comparing. Stop beating yourself up. And stop making room for people in your life that checked out a long time ago.

But most of all, you need to love. Love your fluff. Love your butt even though there used to be more to love at one point in time. Love your itty bitty’s that allow you to wear low cut tops and no bra with ease. Love that puffy part underneath your eyes that make you feel old event hough you’ve had them since you were in elementary school. Love your imperfect skin. Because they boast scars that tell an amazing story of how far you’ve come, and how far you’ve yet to go. 

You need to love yourself. SO much that the next time a picture of *insert random guys ex’s name here* shows up on your explore page, the only thing you need to fix are your Instagram settings. 

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