For me, the shame did not set in after this experience. It’s the shame that led me here and inextricably linked to my Imposter Syndrome and it’s deeply rooted relationship with physical health.
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The jig was up. I could stop pretending. My body horizontal on the grimy floor of a BART train was proof that this thing I was doing wasn’t sustainable. By “this thing,” I mean my life.
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When the man at the church door tells you your knee length skirt is too short for your 13 year old body, take it off. Go to church naked. Adam and Eve the shit out of that service.
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I thought I had to shrink myself to be good enough. Truth? I am good enough right this freaking moment and every moment in the future and was for every moment in the past.
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