My New Year's resolution is to not beat myself up anymore. I turned 30 this year, and I still find myself feeling insecure about whether or not I'm a good writer, mother and wife. I worry how my husband could still possibly find me attractive with spider veins and stretch marks (from two pregnancies in two years). And even though I worked for three years to write 150 Pounds, sometimes setting my alarm for 5 a.m., and it's the best thing I've ever written, a small voice inside of me fears readers will say, "Who the hell is she to publish a book?" I think it's okay to improve one's self without letting insecurities run your life. Even though I wrote a book about the ways women are made to feel about their bodies, I still strive to love my curvy belly. I still wish I didn't have to wear glasses, even though my husband loves them. It's funny: When I look at pictures of myself from my twenties, I weighed 130 pounds and look skinny as a whip. But at the time, I always thought I was chubby. Now, I would kill for that body back. I think the lesson here is to love one's self at any weight, at any stage of life. That's my New Year's resolution.
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