I kept waiting. Waiting to grow at least 4 more inches, waiting for my stomach to smooth, waiting to grow into an elegant female instead of a disproportionate girl.
So when, at 22, I suddenly caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, several realizations toppled down onto me all at once: I was done growing (10 years past done, actually) and didn’t look a thing like the drop-dead gorgeous beauty I’d always imagined as a little girl. I still look like an awkward 12-year old. I crumpled to the floor. It’s never going to happen. The realization sunk into my gut like a lead cannon ball. And it hasn’t really left since, to be honest, even nearly 2 years later.
Idolatry at its finest masks itself as pain with a remedy that feeds one’s pride. Low self-esteem is the diagnosis of the day. That label in itself is…
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Godly aliens 