Why is it that women pick up on the slightest slur and never hear the good stuff? Criticisms are stored forever; compliments evaporate instantly.
My goddaughter, visiting from college, is sprawled on my bed while we enact one of our regular rituals: I peruse my closet, offering her the clothes I no longer wear. “Take this, I don’t have the legs for short skirts,” I say, or “These pants make me look hippy.” She regards me with quizzical amusement, suggesting that I have body dysmorphic disorder—that I’m one of those people preoccupied with minor, and often imaginary, flaws in physical features. At the very least, she insists, I need new glasses.
And we’re not talking mere physical insecurity. Read More…