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December 19, 2015

Why I’ll Never Succumb to the Disease of “Good Enough.”

elegant woman smoking

I don’t want to fit into your ideal of what’s good enough because I am not.

I am more than that.

I’ve outgrown expectations—slid them off like a black silk slip—and exposed my bare self to the mirror.

I see the scars, the edges of plumpness, the curves showing my womanhood, and I am me—not some image air-brushed into being good enough.

I run my fingers through my choppy hair—remembering the time that I wore it short—shaving it to a stubble as an act of defiance.

Today I do not need to shape my body, my skin, my lips, my legs, or my ass into an act of defiance to fight this good enough dis-ease of our society.

I won’t swallow a magic pill of “not giving a crap” to cure this dis-ease.

Sure, it’ll take the edge off, but the cure is much more than that.

It’ll take a purely positive “pill” in the form of living.

Embrace who I am meant to be in this moment.

I’ll shake my booty to the uplifting drumbeats, or slow dance to waves along the ocean’s shore.

I’ll love my lightness and my darkness—because in the shadows I’ve discovered some of my wildest joys.

I’ll sing my heart open.

Relax into my pains of being human.

Take pleasure in my joy.

Get so lost in being myself that I’ll forget that there is such a dis-ease as good enough.

I hope you’ll do the same.

 

Author: Jessie Wright

Editor: Catherine Monkman

Image: Idda van Munster/Pixoto

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