"I must undertake to love myself and to respect myself as though my very life
depends upon self-love and self-respect."
“I want you to write yourself a love letter,” the instructor cooed. “Close your eyes and see yourself as the most glorious person in the world. You are the ultimate beloved. Now open your eyes and write.”
I shifted in the wooden chair. I had signed up for a two-hour class in ‘Happiness,’ and I felt bombarded by positive pushiness, arch affirmations and bliss bombs. Already I had dutifully trooped into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and assured myself that I was beautiful. I tried not to notice that pimple lurking on my nose, the wrinkles wandering from my eyes, or the gorgeous blonde next to me, whispering ardently [and truthfully] to herself, “You are so beautiful.”
“You’re not writing,” the teacher scolded. I sighed and rummaged in my purse for scrap paper. On the back of a grocery store receipt, I wrote:
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